


Taylor Costa-Brown

by Omega_93



Category: Worm - Wildbow
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-01-04 19:14:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12174975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omega_93/pseuds/Omega_93
Summary: Life isn't easy when your mother is the Chief-Director of the Parahuman Response Team.





	1. Chapter 1 - Agency

**Taylor Costa-Brown**

_"Oh?" Mommy said, one eyebrow raised and a small smirk playing on her lips. "A hero, huh?"_

"Yeah!" The little girl squealed, childish glee etched onto her face. She'd been holding this in for so long, waiting to surprise mommy, hoping it'd give her a smile.

"Like Alexandria?"

The little girl grinned, shaking her head so hard her pigtails whipped round to hit her in the face.

"No, mommy. Like you!"

_The girl threw herself into her mommy's arms, never noticing the woman's pained expression._

~~~~~

Mr. Jenkins droned on about the history of the first wards team, his voice its usual bored monotone. Half of the class were asleep, the other half whispering amongst themselves. Mr. Jenkins didn't seem to care.

Looking at the time on my phone, all I could think was:

_Is mom going to be home for dinner tonight?_

I sighed, trying my best to devote my attention to the lesson, even with the low hum of whispered chatter all around me. At least no one was talking to me directly. The two empty spaces on my left and the muscle-bound bodyguard on my right saw to that.

Ultimately, I gave up and rested my head on the desk, squeezing my phone back into my jeans pocket. Even if Mr. Jenkins were the most enthusiastic teacher on planet earth, I wouldn't have been able to concentrate.

Too much on my mind to give a shit about the first wards.

Mom had been busy as all hell for the last few weeks, following the Simurgh's attack on Madison. I could count on one hand how many times I'd seen her, and even then we barely exchanged a dozen sentences before she was off on her next errand.

I understood. I really did. She was one of the most important people in the world. The head of the PRT. She had commitments. Duties. The aftermath of a  _fucking_  Endbringer attack on American soil was obviously more important than me.

But I could still miss her, couldn't I? I could be selfish, here. She was my mom.

_Even if the world was ending, I'd still come for you, Taylor,_  she'd said to me, once, after a particularly close call in one of my many attempted kidnapping ordeals.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but I was half hoping for some kind of crisis that would warrant her coming to my rescue, at this point.

The shrill chime of the school bell ripped me from my thoughts and brought me back into the present. Another sigh escaped my lips as Nameless PRT heavy #6 gathered my things into a backpack and slung it over his shoulder, before motioning towards the door.

I rolled my eyes. I'd told them they didn't need to carry my stuff, but they never listened. I wrapped Uncle Rick's scarf around my neck and strode from the classroom, my classmates giving me - or, probably more accurately, my bodyguard - a wide berth. Nameless PRT heavy #2 joined #6 as we exited the room, the two flanking me at either shoulder a few paces behind as I made my way to my locker.

When I got there, I found James and Tiffany waiting for me. I pulled my scarf up over my chin, using it like a shield.

"Hey, Taylor," Tiffany greeted me with a small smile. "Have fun in parahuman history?"

"It was Mr. Jenkins, Tiff," I replied, keeping my voice steady as I could. "He could make  _anything_  boring."

James raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Even sex ed?"

Tiffany swatted him over the back of the head. "Only you could get off to diagrams of the reproductive system."

"I have a creative imagination."

I smiled as I listened to them banter, taking a moment to take my bag from #6 and swap my textbooks out for the ones I'd need in afternoon classes. I was under no delusions that the two of them had first approached me out of their own free will, but they'd stuck around even when the other three - and didn't that leave a bitter taste - ditched me as soon as their 'assignment' was done and the threat had passed.

I mean, I was always technically under threat, hence the beefy bodyguards, but there wasn't a nationwide group of villains out to kidnap me for leverage against mom. Not right now, anyway, as far as I knew. Maybe there'd be a new one next week.

But regardless of the circumstances, I was pretty sure we were really friends, by now. At least on my end. I didn't know which Wards they were, but I actually preferred it that way. Like this, I could ignore the way Tiffany's eyes tracked anyone who came within ten feet of me. I could pretend James wasn't constantly on guard. I could imagine I wasn't stood next to a pair of parahumans, something I'd never truly be comfortable with no matter how much I tried.

I could feel like a normal high school girl.

I slammed my locker shut with a bit more force than I probably should've, startling Tiffany.

_At least she didn't take a combat stance_ , I thought. All the martial arts training in the world wouldn't help me against a parahuman. Well, I didn't actually know her power, but it would probably give her some bullshit advantage that rendered my meager self-defense abilities useless.

"Tay? You okay?" James asked, looking me up and down. If it were anyone else he was staring at me like that, I would've taken his look as lecherous. But he knew #2 and #6 would report to my mom, and he was far too scared of her for that.

Taking a breath, I schooled my expression and nodded. "I'm fine," I said because I was. Just a dumb moment of frustration.

James' eyes lingered on me for a moment, before he shrugged and spun on his heel. "Cafeteria?" He called over his shoulder as he strode away without giving us a chance to answer.

Tiffany rolled her eyes and grabbed my hand to lead me after him. We were halfway to the cafeteria when my four companions suddenly froze at the same time. Tiffany's eyes narrowed, darting around our surroundings. James dropped back to take up a subtle position in front of me. #2 was speaking softly under his breath, his head bowed. #6 stepped forward until he was right behind me, ready to grab me and run at a moment's notice.

My heart started hammering in my chest, even as I tried to regulate my breathing and blink the blurriness out of my vision. I was more than familiar with these situations, I'd been through this same song and dance a hundred times. Even so, I couldn't fight off the chill that went through my body, the goosebumps prickling my skin, and the shiver that jolted my spine. I started tapping my foot, chewing on my lip as I waited for instructions.

Ten seconds passed. Then ten more.

After a full minute, two more heavies came barreling into the corridor as #6 grabbed me by the upper arm and pulled me away, in the opposite direction from the cafeteria. The others were by our side in the blink of an eye, moving as a group in a diamond formation around me. At some point, Tiffany and James had slipped away.

I regulated my breathing and tried to relax my muscles, knowing I needed to be unburdensome as possible. We paused at a ground floor fire escape, #2 still muttering under his breath with a bit more urgency now, one hand on his ear and another hand buried in his jacket. All four of my guards looked grim, their eyes hard as steel.

After a minute that felt like an eternity, #2 brought his arm down and bolted forward.

"Go, go, go!" He barked, all but carrying me as we sprinted out of the building into the front courtyard. It was deserted, a squad of PRT agents holding back any curious students. Falcon was floating in the sky above in his strange, vein-patterned bodysuit, his eyes glowing an eerie red as he tracked the crowd below. I gave him a small smile as I was rushed past, but I couldn't say for sure if he saw it.

The guards brought me out through the west gate of the school. A motorcade of armoured PRT vehicles awaited us, and I was bundled into the back of what appeared to be an armoured prison transport. I only realised as we got close that Praetor was crouched atop the vehicle, her green body armour making her look like one of Glaistig Uiaine's ghosts. She gave me a nod and a barely noticeable smile before I lost sight of her.

The inside of the vehicle was already full of armoured, fully armed PRT officers. All of them were carrying live weapons, not containment foam, belying the seriousness of the situation. I sat in the one empty seat without complaint.

The doors slammed shut and the vehicle was moving the moment my seatbelt was secured. I held out my arms to the side to allow one of the PRT officers to fix the body armour to my torso, while another secured a full face helmet to my head.

The ensuing half hour was filled only with the sounds of the PRT agents routinely checking their equipment, and the commander of the squad receiving updates over the radio. I kept my head bowed and my lips pursed, willing the tears to stay in my eyes. I was pretty sure I didn't manage it.

There were a few distant explosions and faint shouts along the way, and at some point, Praetor shouted something before I heard the boosters in her armour start up. But apart from that, it was almost a routine foiled kidnapping.

Still, I was on edge.

Something was wrong here.

Villains weren't supposed to act so soon after an Endbringer attack, even if the most recent one was on the other side of the planet. Judging by that, there were two possibilities: either we were dealing with foolish amateurs who had no idea how much shit they had gotten themselves in with this stunt, or we were up against people who thought taking a shot at me was worth the added heat.

The fact that we hadn't appeared to deal with any significant stoppages in the time we'd been on the road pointed to the former, but the fact the Thinkers had thought it necessary to strike preemptively and extract me from school in the first place?

_That_  was why I was worried. It was extremely fucking rare for the PRT to actually take me out of school like this.

The only other times it had happened, things had gotten really bad.

Sure enough, not twenty seconds after I had that thought, our vehicle came to a violent stop. I was thrown against my harness to the side, jarring my ribs and neck. It took me a moment to shake off the dizziness from such a sudden loss of momentum, by which point the commander was already bellowing out orders, and two of the agents were practically acting as human shields, looming over me, making themselves as wide targets as possible.

My ears were ringing, and at some point, I'd lost my glasses. Everything around me was out of focus.

_Damn your vision, Dad!_  I thought, a little hysteric.

I could just about make out the rhythmic tat-tat-tat of gunfire, and something more constant. A laser?

Apparently, the commander made the decision to exit the vehicle and continue on foot. Two agents threw open the doors, four more agents springing out onto the street and taking defensive positions. I felt someone shove earbuds into my ears and my glasses back onto my eyes just as the agents' guns started barking out shots, then I was literally being carried bridal style by a hunched over agent, moving faster than I could ever hope to.

The sudden appearance of sunlight stung my eyes, but I could still make out the destructive cape battle going down. I made out six heroes against eleven villains before the agent practically threw me behind cover; a four-sided square of Tinker-glass riot shields. Theoretically, I was safe from harm.

One of the villains, a towering man double the height of the next tallest man in the battle, ripped a captured PRT agent's head off with his bare hands. I felt far from safe. I was doubled over vomiting before I could even think to begin calming exercises.

From there, I barely understood what happened. The PRT agents crowded around my little fort in a military formation, some of them crouched, firing, while others stood, firing. I couldn't see through the mass of bodies, only hear the ongoing battle. There were frantic shouts and screamed orders, sounds of gunfire and lasers and explosions and hits and weird sounds that only fucking  _powers_  could ever hope to make. I scrunched my eyes shut and stuffed my head between my knees, curling up into a ball to make myself as small as possible, just like I'd been taught.

All my time spent running, training in combat with my PRT guards, working out to try and stop being so helpless, turned out to be utterly useless here.

I heard the desperate scream of a voice I tried not to recognise. Agents barking 'man down, man down'. At some point, the world descended into an endless stream of gunfire, as the PRT got the order to let loose. A hand grabbed me by the arm and pulled me to the side, my body squished against the riot shield by another form. I heard the tell tale sound of a volley of bullets zipping through the air where I had just been, somehow ignoring my supposedly impregnable barrier.

I looked up just in time to see the back of my suit-clad guardian angel disappear through a gap in the air. It closed behind her, and I let out a shaky laugh.

There were fewer agents around me, now. I could just about make out the battle. The giant man was taking the brunt of fire, unable to properly advance past the four remaining heroes lest he end up exposing his nine remaining comrades to fire. Bullets and powers alike bounced off him like spitballs. At some unknown signal, the giant's head snapped round to stare right at me. The man caught my eye and grinned, sending a shiver down my spine. Suddenly my fort felt like a prison.

There was the bone-shaking crack of a sonic boom, and I snapped my head up just in time to witness Alexandria descend from the sky like a vengeful god. One minute, the Brute was a twelve-foot tall goliath of muscle and power. The next he was a puddle. She turned, her eyes lingering on me for a moment, looking me up and down, before she shot back into the sky.

Within minutes, the attacking villains were either dead or wishing they were. Alexandria appeared to have little interest in mercy, today.

I managed to catch sight of the mangled form of a villain in a blue suit before I was once again being dragged away by a squad of PRT agents. Before I knew it, I was back in a PRT prison transfer vehicle. I vaguely recognised the man on my left was Heavy #4, who I hadn't seen in a while, rubbing a circle at the top of my back between my shoulder blades as he whispered what I was sure was supposed to be comforting words.

I couldn't even hear him, the ringing in my ears was so loud. Some distant part of me knew I was hyperventilating, my heart beat bordering on dangerous, but I couldn't remember my breathing exercises.

I wanted to laugh. So many people had fought, gotten injured and even died for me, and now I was going to die from a fucking heart attack.

Even as I thought that, though, the circles rubbed in my back started to get stronger. The voice beside me started to make sense.

" _In_ , two three four,  _out,_ two three four,  _in_ , two three four,  _out,_ two three four."

I let out a broken laugh as my breathing leveled and my surroundings made sense. I couldn't help it.

All this for me. All this ridiculous bullshit for me. My eyes stung and my stomach churned, but I stubbornly gritted my teeth and willed my body into a normal state.

It took a few minutes, and I probably didn't look anything approaching okay, but I eventually succeeded. I heard #4 sigh beside me and flop back into his seat.

"Sorry, Mike," I muttered, my voice hoarse.

#4 shook his head. "Nothing to apologise for, kid. Not your fault the world's full of scumbags."

I shook my head right back at him, but I couldn't think of the right words to rebuke him. Half of me wanted to ask about the casualties, but the memory of a familiar, terrified voice brought me up short. Shame coiled in my gut as the other, cowardly half of me kept me silent.  
Mike gave me a look but apparently decided not to say anything.

That was fine. Good, even. I wasn't sure I could handle talking with anyone right now.

This ride was a lot more comfortable than the last one. The commander was still muttering under his breath here and there, but his communications were infrequent, though I could see he was still listening in. After a while, the vehicle slowed to a halt and the commander spoke up.

"Miss Costa-Brown, we have arrived at our destination. You will have two squads guarding you for the rest of the night, and you will listen to any and all instructions given to you. You will keep your phone, panic button, mace, baton, taser and firearm on you until you are told you can do otherwise. At least two PRT agents will be in the same room as you at all times. The squads include seven female agents, so you should have no problems. If you see anything suspicious, alert an agent immediately. If anything is out of place, alert an agent immediately. If there is a speck of dust where it should not be, alert an agent immediately. Clear?"

I nodded, well used to this by now. "Yes, sir. Thank you for your help, sir."

The commander nodded, then grunted an order. Two agents flung open the doors, then stepped out to join the squad of agents that were already present outside.

I rose from my seat, then hesitated for a moment and turned to Mike. He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Thank you, Mike," I said, my voice uncomfortably small. "Stay safe."

Mike just laughed at that. "No need to worry about us, Taylor. We're all far more worried about what the Chief-Director would do to us if you got hurt than any punishment a villain could dish out."

A collective shiver went through the agents in the van like a Mexican wave, with Mike at the centre, shivering hardest.

I giggled, though it sounded a bit hollow even to my ears. "Mom can be pretty scary."

"Give me grey boy any day," one of the other agents said, eliciting a laugh from the other troops. I joined in, sounding a bit more genuine now.

Sighing, I made my way to the exit of the vehicle. "Thank you, everyone. Sorry for the trouble."

There were a few denials, a few accepted, the commander glared at me and gestured towards the door. I left with a smile, letting one of the agents let me down.

When my house came into view, it was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. My heart finally stopped racing, the ringing in my ears receded and my head felt light. Tears started streaming down my cheeks.

My cheeks flushed as I stomped up the driveway and opened the front door. I knew, on some level, none of the agents would judge me, but it didn't make my ugly sobs any less embarrassing.

_I should be used to this by now._

But, then, how the fuck was anyone ever supposed to get used to shit like this? The memory of the PRT agent's head getting ripped from his body flashed through my mind, and I dashed into the living room and threw myself on the sofa, stuffing my face in a fluffy pillow to try and hide that I was rubbing my eyes. Still, my body shook with sobs.

Sometimes I managed to delude myself into thinking I could-  _should_  be doing more out there. Fighting. Helping. Doing more than being a helpless girl in need of protection. Wasn't that what I trained for? Wasn't that why I begged Mike for lessons?

There were times when I believed I could do more. Be less of a burden. But then a 'situation' actually occurred, and I was brought back down to reality. This was no different.

All my so-called training and people had still gotten hurt protecting me.

Would anything even change if I joined the PRT?

I buried my face in my scarf, trying to imagine it still smelled like it used to. It didn't, but it evoked memories of a happier time all the same.

I wasn't sure how long I laid there crying, but the sun was starting to go down by the time I'd calmed down enough to breathe without my chest shaking painfully. An agent was stood at each corner of the room, masks hiding their expressions. It was probably my imagination telling me they were judging me, but I still felt like shit all the same.

One of them approached hesitantly as if they were about to pet a wild tiger. "Taylor? Would you like to get cleaned up?"

All I could do was nod and let the agent lead me to the en suite in my bedroom. Two more agents appeared and took up corners in the room. I peeled off my clothes and stepped into the already running walk-in shower. It took me a moment to realise why everything was so foggy before I yanked my glasses off with a squeak of embarrassment and placed them outside the shower. Hanging my head, I finally stepped under the stream of water.

The warm water made me feel like I was being baptised and reborn anew. My skin changed from a grimy brown - and when the hell did I get so dirty? - back to a tanned hue before my eyes. My hair, caked in sticky I-don't-want-to-know-what, was the next to morph back into its usual silky black state, aided by liberal use of shampoo and conditioner.

My hair, mom's hair, was always my favourite feature. I loved how silky-smooth it was, though I could never get it as perfect as hers.

I had to clean out red flecks from under my nails, which almost set me to vomiting again. I spent a good twenty minutes in the shower, scrubbing myself and scrubbing myself and scrubbing myself, before the agent who had escorted me up here in the first place threatened to drag me out if I didn't get out soon.

I trudged out of the shower, feeling somewhat human again. All I wanted to do was flop into my bed and fall away from the world. There was a good chance I'd have nightmares, but equally likely I could have good dreams, too.

I dried myself off and threw on the first set of pajamas at the top of my drawer, even though they didn't match. Just as I was about to climb into bed, my door opened.

I spun around, and the waterworks started all over again. The ringing in my ears I hadn't realised was still there disappeared completely with a pop. For half a second, mom's expression was as severe and professional as it always was, then her eyes landed on me and she softened, transforming into a completely different person before my eyes.

One breathe, she was Chief-Director Rebecca Costa-Brown. The next she was my mother.

She met me halfway, barely moving an inch as I threw myself into her arms. I was a blubbering mess in seconds, barely able to form a coherent word. Mom's arms were safety. It was like she was made of steel, utterly immovable and invincible. As long as Mom was with me, there was nothing on earth that could harm me.

"Shh, it's okay. I'm here. It's okay. It's all over." She cooed soft words into my ear, sending a shudder through my body. Just her voice was enough to calm my hysterics, even if just a bit.

She gathered me up in her arms as if I weighed nothing and moved over to the bed, still whispering comforts.

"Taylor?"

I pulled back a step, giving her a moment to let her look me over. She spent a few moments patting me down, checking for injuries. She nodded to herself, then pulled me into a hug once more.

"Good girl, Taylor. You did great out there."

"I got people killed," I managed to choke out, somehow.

Mom's expression turned stern. "The Elite got people killed. Do not go down this road, Taylor. I did not teach you to be irrational." Her serious gaze remained for a moment, waiting to see the signs that her words had the desired effect. It only took her a few seconds; mom had always been ridiculously good at reading me.

I looked away and nodded, knowing she was right. It was still hard, though. The Elite - since that's apparently who was after me - had pulled the trigger, but those deceased today were only in the line of fire because of me.

I swallowed and took a moment to gather some confidence. "James?"

Mom's face was carefully neutral. "He will be transferring schools."

_Oh, god._

My heart dropped to my stomach. I wanted to blame myself again. Curse my status and my weakness. But I knew mom wouldn't tolerate that line of thought, even in my current emotional state, so there was no point. Still, I lowered my head, doing nothing to prevent the hot tears spilling from my eyes.

Mom gently cupped my chin and pulled me up to look at her. There was a soft understanding in her eyes, but no pity.

"Come on. You won't be getting any sleep. I'll make us some dinner."

In some small, bitter, irony-loving part of myself, I was overjoyed that I'd actually be getting to have dinner with mom tonight.

_Yay._


	2. Chapter 2 - Monotony

**TAYLOR COSTA-BROWN 2**

_When only the Doctor, Contessa and Alexandria remained in the room, the Doctor spoke._

_"Taylor has been researching superpowers."_

_"Absolutely not," Alexandria said without hesitation, her posture and expression devoid of emotion despite her forceful words._

_Doctor Mother raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Why not? You demanded we help to protect her if the need arose." The Doctor glanced at Contessa. "That takes a lot of resources. Giving her a parahuman ability will only serve to keep her safer."_

_Alexandria did not falter. "I will not risk using a vial on her."_

_Contessa shifted slightly. The Doctor looked incredulous._

_"We've gotten quite good at the procedure, over the years."_

_"It's not a guarantee."_

_"No, it isn't." The Doctor looked at Contessa_ again, _and paused. "You'd rather she triggered naturally?"_

_Alexandria stayed silent, but that was answer enough._

_"You want her to be a second generation trigger?" Contessa asked, monotone. "There's even less of a guarantee of success on that end, with our agents. It may not even be possible."_

_"She's my daughter," Alexandria said with a glare. "I will decide what is best for her. This is one area where I will allow myself to be irrational and illogical." She faced Doctor Mother, expression back in an impassive mask. "You recall promising you would not challenge me where Taylor is concerned?"_

_Doctor Mother sighed. She didn't consider it a big enough issue to spend any more time on. "Have it your way, Rebecca."_

_Alexandria took it for the dismissal it was._

_~~~~~~_

People all over America dreamt of living in Beverly Hills. I hated it.

There was nothing wrong with the neighborhood, per se, save for the snobby rich kids and their perpetual state of loud partying. My beef lay more in my inability to go out and enjoy the area.

We drove past luxurious shops and interesting cafes, and my mood got darker and darker with each one. I COULD have gone in, anytime I wanted.

But it was always awkward, walking around with a team of bodyguards. Especially when one of them was a strangely protective case 53, and another was a popular Ward.

School was bad enough, but at least there people knew I was just a student. My only claim to fame was having the Chief-Director of the PRT for a mother.

Out in the wider world, though? People assumed I was some kind of celebrity. Who else would walk around with a security team, right? It made my skin crawl whenever I caught someone staring at me.

At least the guys were kind enough to turn away idiots asking for selfies.

To be fair, I'd probably have similar problems anywhere I went. Mom had kindly informed me there was no place on Earth she'd trust to let me be alone without guards, and living in Brockton Bay with Dad and Rose was most certainly out of the question. She'd been fiercely protective ever since the Venice Beach incident.

Better creepy celebrity spotting tourists than gangsters and villains, she'd said. I didn't bother arguing back with her. She'd always win.

The drive to school took twenty minutes, and once we arrived we had to wait to be given the all clear before we could actually approach the school.

My two Ward bodyguards disappeared off down a side exit, though I didn't understand why Chameleon needed to bother. His green skin and reptilian tail were pretty identifiable features. Praetor at least had a secret identity to protect.

It was only after a few minutes of coordinating on a radio that my driver gave me the all clear to exit the vehicle, my two guards (#5 and #3 today, they were both nice) following close behind me. The crowd outside the school parted like the red sea.

My security had been stepped up after the incident a few weeks ago. I'd never been properly informed of the inner workings - because of course not - but I could only assume I was still under direct threat, since things hadn't gone back to normal.

Quite the opposite, in fact. Tiffany barely left my side when she could, even if she didn't talk to me as much as she used to, and Chameleon was also apparently ever present, though I couldn't see him.

I sighed and ducked my head as we entered through the front doors. My classmates darted out of my way as if I was the Siberian, allowing me to reach my class five minutes early.

#3 stepped up and unlocked the door, before slipping in on his own for a security check. #5 waited with me while #3 checked inside.

I was tapping my foot and clenching my fists by the time he was done. I was uncomfortably aware of how many eyes were on me. I shouldered past him into the classroom as he was giving the all clear.

I took a seat in the back corner and rested my head on my arms. #3 took the seat beside me, and doubtless Chameleon was stuck to the roof, blending in.

A deep tiredness set into my body. I'd had to be more liberal with the foundation and concealer than usual to cover the bags under my eyes. A yawn escaped me despite my best efforts to stop it.

It was going to be a long day.

The day, like most others recently, passed in a blur. I barely took in any of my lessons. Tiffany's sad silence barely registered in my mind as we walked to the cafeteria. At some point, #3 had swapped out for #5.

I only realised I fell asleep halfway through lunch when the bell scared me half to death. A few people around me laughed at my startled yelp, but they were silenced by Tiffany's glare.

I didn't really talk to anyone throughout the day. Never had the energy to, recently. The only human interactions I had in the last two weeks - I didn't count the PRT grunts - were the brief encounters with my mother and the weekly phone-calls with my half sister. Rose had always been my savior in times like these; her cheerful voice always grounded me.

Well, formerly cheerful voice, anyway. The poor girl had not taken her mother's death well. I'd tried to comfort her, but I was no substitute for Annette. I could understand perfectly. No one could ever replace my mom. Or Uncle Rick.

Thoughts of Uncle Rick darkened my mood considerably, and the rest of the school day passed with little to write home about. Before I knew it, it was time to return to an empty house. The front door closed behind me with a hiss and a click, the chime of the security system reactivating echoed through the house.

"I'm home," I called, knowing there was no one there to greet me.

A well-timed and retrospectively regretted tantrum had gotten the agents out of the house. I was pretty sure mom had removed them as a punishment rather than a concession.

I gritted my teeth and headed for the kitchen. I was at the point of hunger where I was starting to feel light headed.

When had I last actually ate? Couldn't say. I kept forgetting, for some reason.

Too tired to cook anything too elaborate, I settled for the instant noodles I'd had to sneakily buy on a shopping trip.

Unhealthy, but mom had forbidden me from running for the past few weeks, so she couldn't complain about that too much.

The water boiled instantly in our obscenely expensive tinker kettle, making the 'instant' part of the noodles closer to reality than usual.

The front door swung open, startling me so hard I had to lunge to catch my bowl.

My eyes darted to the clock. It was only half-five. Mom was never home this early. Meaning-

"Taylor?"

I winced at the tone of her voice. Someone had reported me. For what? I didn't have the first clue. I decided being caught eating junk food wouldn't help the situation, so poured them down the food disposal just as mom was entering the kitchen.

She was still wearing her work clothes, her knee length navy blue skirt hugging close to her body. She wrinkled her nose and raised an eyebrow at me.

"You're really not thinking clearly, are you?"

I froze. I wasn't sure why I'd thought that would work, come to think of it. "Tired, is all."

"I believe it. Sit down, I'll cook you something edible."

With no choice but to obey, I plonked myself down by the breakfast bar. Mom narrowed her eyes at my slumped posture, but I couldn't find the energy to correct myself.

Mom rolled her eyes and huffed, before proceeding to get into a fight with the kitchen. An hour or so later, a plate of steaming pasta carbonara was placed in front of me.

One of my favourite meals.

The sight of it brought me back to one of the only meals I'd ever had with both of my parents at the same time, on one of my birthdays when I was a kid. Dad lived on literally the other side of the country, in a shithole in New Hampshire, so I didn't get to see him often.

Much of my childhood was spent begging mom to 'marry daddy' - horrifyingly embarrassing, looking back at it, poor Annette - and much of my teen years had been spent wishing Dad didn't live so far away.

My memories of him were few and far between. I could hardly even say I knew him.

But he was still my dad, and I cherished every moment spent with him.

Even after his wife died and he went into a funk.

I wiped my eyes.

"Trying to butter me up?" I asked. The slight tremor in my voice made me want to smash my head on the counter.

Mom came to sit beside me. Her own meal was much smaller. "Trying to apologise. I should've been home more after that incident with the Elite."

"Not a big deal. It's okay."

"It is a big deal, and it isn't okay." Mom paused, twirling her fork through her pasta. " _You_  are not okay. It's unacceptable that I have to get a note from one of my subordinates to see that."

I shrugged, unable to find the right words to reply. Mostly because I couldn't deny it.

"I haven't been sleeping well."

Mom placed a hand on my shoulder. "I'll stay home tonight." She paused. I wasn't looking at her, but I was sure she was showing her 'soft' face, the blank mask slipping.

"And you can talk to me," she continued. "Please do not allow yourself to get into situations like this. You know you can call me anytime."

A silly thought came to mind and I snorted. "So if an Endbringer was attacking and a boy was mean to me at school?"

"I'd put Legend on hold." Mom said, before swatting me on the shoulder. "Now eat your dinner."

We ate in comfortable silence. Mom finished her meal in a minute flat, ruthlessly efficient as she was in all things. I lost count of how many times I found myself dozing off, until my food had gone cold and mom took my plate away even though I was barely half finished.

Next thing I knew, I was being bundled up and dropped on the sofa.

"Take a nap," was all mom said as she pulled my head onto her lap.

I was asleep in seconds, feeling safe.

**Taylor Costa-Brown C2.5**

_Uncle Rick fell on his back with a dramatic groan. "Taylor! Are you secretly a parahuman in disguise?! Such strength!"_

_Taylor's giggles were full of childish glee as she clambered onto Uncle Rick's chest. "Nah, I'm just really strong!" She puffed out her chest with pride, adopting a haughty expression that vaguely resembled her mother's. "Mommy said I'm a Brute 15."_

_She didn't know what that meant, though._

_"For sure. We might have to call the heroes in here to deal with you!"_

_Taylor tilted her head and scrunched her eyebrows. "Why would the heroes gotta deal with me?"_

_Uncle Rick grinned. "Because you're a dangerous villainess, Taylor. Look at you, holding your uncle hostage like this."_

_"Hey! I'm not a villain! You're the villain!"_

_"Oh yeah? Then I guess I need a suitably evil name." Uncle Rick grinned wickedly and snatched Taylor up as he rose to his feet. "How about"-he paused for dramatic effect-"the tickle monster!"_

_"No, Uncle Rick! Mom! Mommy!"_

_Taylor found herself inside a few minutes later,_ red faced _as mommy wiped the dirt from her clothes. Uncle Rick was leaning against the kitchen counter, smirking._

_"You're a big meanie," she said before blowing her best raspberry at him._

_"Guilty as charged, princess. You caught me."_

_Taylor stomped a foot, earning a disapproving tut from Mommy._

_"I'm gonna be a hero one day, and I'll beat up meanies like you."_

_Uncle Rick laughed. "A hero, huh? Planning on getting superpowers?"_

_Taylor smiled triumphantly. "Don't need 'em. I'll just be like Mommy!"_

_People didn't need laser eyes to be heroes, after all. Mommy told her that._

_The smile fell from Uncle Rick's face and he shot mommy a look Taylor didn't understand. It only lasted a moment, though, and his expression returned to a smile, though it was different in a way that little Taylor couldn't put into words._

_"You don't want to be like Alexandria? Or Hero?" He asked, wiggling his eyebrows._

_Taylor pouted. Mommy had asked that, too. Why did everyone keep asking her that?_

_"No, Hero's dumb"-Uncle Rick's face fell and mommy let out a bark of laughter-"I want to be like mommy."_

_And that was that._

~~~~~

I woke up to a knock at the door.

It took me a moment to realise where I was. Pink sheets. Memory foam mattress. Life-size Hero poster on the wall. My room.

Mom must've carried me upstairs when I fell asleep.

I breathed a sigh of relief as my heart rate slowed and stretched out in bed, absently noting I was still in the clothes I wore to school. My scarf was folded next to me, placed atop the duvet. My throat was a bit dry, my limbs slightly heavy, but I couldn't recall the last time I felt so well rested.

"Taylor?"

I cleared my throat as I slipped under the covers.

"Come in," I said, grimacing at how gravelly my voice was.

Mom entered, giving me her customary once-over with her eyes. "Rose is on the phone."

I raised one eyebrow.

"Yes, the phone is downstairs."

I groaned.

"You'll be upset with yourself later if you don't talk to her."

I groaned again.

Mom sighed. "She'll worry about you if you don't. You never miss her calls."

I groaned a third time, but threw the covers off myself, donned my scarf, and hopped out of bed. Satisfied with her victory, mom turned on her heel and left the room, ponytail swaying with her long, graceful strides.

Stifling a yawn, I followed after her. She disappeared down a corridor towards the TV room she liked to work in, while I headed for the stairs. Our house was only three stories, which was somewhat of an abnormality for our neighbourhood.

That was fine, though. I didn't think I could handle living in something bigger. Even as it was, the house could sometimes feel too empty.

Right now, it was perfect. It was amazing how much the atmosphere of this place changed just knowing mom was here.

It took me a few minutes in my sleep-induced haze, but I eventually found the house phone on the kitchen counter.

"Taylor? Is that you?" A voice came through as soon as I picked it up.

I smiled. I couldn't help it; the note of cheer in her voice was welcome after the state she'd been in after her mother died. She had not handled it well.

She had been even more of a mommy's girl than me, and I couldn't imagine the state I'd be in if I lost mom.

I hoped it was a sign she was having a good day. Doing better.

"Hey, Rose," I said. "How's it going in the Bay?"

Rose scoffed. "Wonderfully, of course. Absolutely love it here. LA?"

"The city of hopes and dreams. Couldn't be happier."

We shared a little laugh, because we couldn't do anything else. I moved through to the living room and sprawled across the three-seater couch.

"Wanna let me come live in LA with you?" Rose asked.

I snorted. "Screw that. How about letting me move to Brockton Bay?"

"You don't know what you're asking, Tay. There probably aren't enough parties here for your Beverly Hills lifestyle." She paused and made a contemplative noise. "Then again, your mom would probably make Armsmaster follow you around."

That stung a bit more than she probably intended, but I forced myself not to let it show in my voice.

"What? Like Dad wouldn't wrap you up in bubble-wrap and spray you with boy repellant if you moved here?"

We laughed together again, hers somehow managing to sound even less real than mine.

"So. How've things been going really?" I asked after a moment of hesitation.

There was a second or two of silence. That wasn't a good sign. I chewed my lip. She'd never actually told me what was bothering her, but I knew something was wrong.

If it'd been about her mother, she'd have had no problem telling me about it. After Annette's death, Rose never missed an opportunity to talk about her.

"I'm okay," Rose said, suddenly much more subdued. "I'm getting by. Winslow is a shit heap, but when is it not?" Another pause. "I miss mom, but that's nothing new."

Translation: not in the mood for that subject. "And dad?"

"Still a wreck. But, again, nothing new. Think he's working late again tonight, actually."

I took a breath. It pained me to hear her go back to that lifeless, defeated voice. I made a mental note to bitch dad out when I next got a hold of him.

"Anything else? You know you can always talk to me, right? About anything." I asked.

"No, not really. Brockton's just depressing, I suppose. Thank you, though. You too."

I had to bite back on my instinctive reply. I knew that was bullshit. That there was something going on with her, and had been for a while. A bunch of terrifying possibilities ran through my mind, but I dismissed them off hand.

There was no way Rose would stay stubborn if something seriously bad was happening. Something was getting her down. Something was making her force her laughter.

She just wouldn't tell me what it was, and I didn't know why. She'd always trusted me before.

Then again, it wasn't as if I was in a hurry to dump my own problems on her. Maybe we were too alike, in that way. Some mutation in Danny Hebert's DNA that made us genetically predisposed to suffering in silence.

I steered the conversation into lighter subjects after that, going into local cape gossip that Rose always seemed to love. My stories about Alexandria always seemed to fascinate her. I didn't see that much appeal, myself.

Then again, I'd seen Alexandria covered in blood and grey matter, while Rose only saw the PR photos and TV spots, where her costume was pristine.

She huffed and I imagined her rolling her eyes when I tried to bring up the merits of the PRT instead.

I liked to think she could imagine my pout, too, though it didn't stop her making fun of me.

"I can't even imagine wanting to join the PRT," she said.

"It must be different over in Brockton to how it is here, if you think like that," I replied.

"I guess having the Chief-Director for your mom gives you a different perspective on things."

Eventually, after I asked her to say hi to Anne for me, Rose had to get off the line.

"Good talk," she said, her cheer seeming much more genuine now. "Same time next week?"

"And any time you like," I replied, my own bright tone coming a bit more easily, too.

With that, Rose hung up, and the house was silent. I sighed and let myself sink into the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

My phone calls with Rose were one of the few things keeping me sane, these days. Having someone to talk to who wasn't my mother, a PRT goon or a Ward was a lifesaver.

I wondered if it was the same for her.

The time on my phone read just past nine. There was no point trying to sleep- I wasn't anywhere near tired enough, and I didn't want to mess up my sleep schedule-so I got up and headed into the TV room.

Mom was going through papers on the desk at the end of the room before a wide window, giving a stunning view of nighttime Los Angeles.

"Mom?" She turned her head slightly to show she was listening, even as she kept tearing through her papers at ridiculous speed. I clenched my fists. "Is it okay if I watch TV?"

"As long as it's not some mindless drivel."

I hummed and adopted a thinking pose. "Jersey Shore, then? Hmm, no, the Kardashians would be better."

Mom turned and gave me a  _look_ , only turning away when I held up my hands in surrender.

I browsed through the channels randomly for a while, before settling on the LA evening news. They were showing a rerun of a PRT press conference, headed up by Director Knox, Rime and Vantage flanking her on either side, a caption reading 'confrontation with the Elite' scrolled underneath.

My breath caught in my throat and my mind went blank.

Mom gave the TV a quick glance before turning to me, watching me with a neutral expression.

They were showing the part where the Director fielded questions.

"-New York Times. Do you have any comments on the rumours that this operation was carried out in response to the fight with the West Coast Kings last week that the PRT hasn't commented on?"

Director Knox's face was a blank mask as she turned calm blue eyes towards the reporter. "The incident with the West Coast Kings is still an ongoing investigation, so information must be classified to keep key witness identities safe. We will release information to the public once it is safe to do so. As for those rumours, they are completely unfounded. Our Protectorate heroes identified an illegal operation, and acted accordingly and within protocols. We do not play games of revenge against criminal organisations."

Another reporter spoke up without giving her title, which caused a bit of a stir. "What about the deaths in the West Coast Kings incident, as well as the ones in today's clash with the-"

The picture changed to a cartoon of some kind, but I barely registered it. I whirled around, searching for the remote, only to find it in mom's hand, her tracksuit top removed and her hair let down.

"You're only upsetting yourself, Taylor," she said. "You gain nothing by blaming yourself."

I took a moment to breathe. There would be no use snapping at her. She wouldn't take me seriously if I acted like an emotional child.

"I'm not trying to gain anything. I just wanted to know what happened."

I pointedly didn't reach for the remote, instead opting to hold my mother's gaze. We stared at each other for a while, until mom sighed.

"This is how it works with the Elite. We couldn't afford not to retaliate to the loss of two heroes. It's not about revenge, it's about keeping a delicate balance."

I scoffed, but said nothing. She wasn't going to convince me this wasn't revenge for the Elite's actions against me and we both knew it, so we lapsed into silence.

It lasted a minute or so before mom broke it. "Please don't tell me you're feeling guilty about the villains who were killed in the operation."

I chewed my lip and looked away. "Were there any casualties with the PRT?" My voice was barely audible.

Mom evidently heard it, though, as she let out a little noise before falling silent.

I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know, but I asked anyway. "How many?"

It took a while for her answer to come. "Twelve in the confrontation with the WCK, seven in the operation against the Elite. A few more injured."

My eyes stung. I had to swallow past a lump in my throat. Mom wrapped her arms around me and pulled me back onto the sofa.

"Stop this silliness, Taylor. It isn't your fault."

"It's not silly." My voice came out sounding so childish I wanted to scream.

I found myself wanting to scream a lot, these days.

"People getting hurt protecting me is one thing," I said, fighting to keep my composure, "People getting hurt on some revenge mission on my behalf is another matter entirely."

"There's more to it than that. We can't just let the loss of-"

"Two heroes who were lost because of me."

Mom fell silent for a moment. I could feel her breathe, calm and steady, on the back of my head.

"I had thought we'd been over this," she spoke carefully. "You are not to blame for the actions of other human beings. You should know this, but the agents assigned to you are rather fond of you. All of them." She paused. "No one wants to die. No one wants to get hurt. But they want to protect you. Why do you think Wilkins runs with you? Why Antar agreed to help you train? I certainly didn't order them to do that."

Tears started trickling down my cheeks. "That's not the point. I don't- they shouldn't need to protect me in the first place."

Mom gently moved me around until I was facing her, staring into my eyes. I didn't resist. I never could.

"No, they shouldn't," she agreed. "It's unfair on you that you have to deal with this, and I'm sorry for that."

I hurried to correct her, but mom placed a hand over my mouth. I debated licking it.

"Let me finish," she chided with a stern look before removing her hand. "I'm sorry that things are this way; they really shouldn't be. But they are. I wish you didn't need bodyguards, but you do." Her expression softened as she reached out to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear, so that it matched hers, then gently wiped the tears from my cheeks.. "I'm sorry you can't have a normal life. I know it's my fault. But I am not going to risk your safety. Ever. Even if you hate me. Even if it makes you deeply uncomfortable. I prioritise your safety above all."

I was speechless for a moment.

"I could never hate you," I finally muttered under my breath.

I thought back to the first conversation like this I could recall. The first and last time I had defied my mother's orders. A shiver went through my body and my hand drifted to my neck to pull my scarf up.

Mom noticed, narrowing her eyes. "And I dearly wish you'd never gotten that wake-up call. I would much rather you sat here and argued your case, believe me."

I wiped my eyes and let out a hollow laugh. I didn't want to think about Venice Beach. "The only parent in the world who wishes for a problem child."

"You think you're not a problem child?" Mom asked with a roll of her eyes, smiling. She picked up the remote and switched the TV back on. She flicked though a few channels before settling on some kind of cheesy corporate cape show.

"Well, I could be worse," I said.

Mom scoffed, but said nothing more.

And just like that, all the tension bled away. I couldn't stay mad because I wasn't really angry at her in the first place.

She'd talked the self-loathing out of me for the evening.

Just like she always did.

It was good to have mom at home, even if it was just for one night.

I flopped back onto the sofa and leaned on her shoulder, settling in for an evening of crappy TV.

~~~~~


	4. Chapter 3 - Aspiration

**Taylor Costa-Brown Chapter three - Aspiration**  
  
  
 _Anne nudged Taylor in the side and gestured as Rose and Emma came sprinting into the room, giggling to each other. Taylor watched them warily as they approached her mom at the dining table.  
  
Rose puffed out her chest. “D’you know ‘lexandria?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Tay said you did, and Tay’s always right.”  
  
Annette and Dad exchanged an amused look, Alan and Zoe doing the same, while mom regarded Rose with a cool expression.  
  
“She’s a good friend of mine, yes,” mom replied.  
  
Rose looked at Taylor’s mom as if the sun rose and set by her command.  
  
Taylor turned to Anne, who was grinning back at her. Why was everyone so interested in Alexandria? The hero was always so grumpy and serious on the few occasions Taylor met her.  
  
Mom was so much cooler. Anne insisted she was scary, but Anne was just a wuss.  
  
Alexandria was the scary one. The thought of someone with so much strength made Taylor shiver, her hand rising to push her scarf up over her neck.  
  
Rose chewed on her lip. “It’s my birthday soon, I’ll be ten,” she said proudly, then started shuffling from foot to foot, averting her eyes.  
  
Annette grinned, leaning forward to pat her daughter on the head. “Was there something you’d like to ask, Rosie?”  
  
Rose flicked her gaze between Annette and Taylor’s mom, then exchanged a look with Emma and squared her shoulders, drawing in a deep breath.  
  
“CanyougetmeAlexandria’sautographpleaseIreallywantit!!”  
  
All the adults laughed at that, even Taylor’s mom.  
  
Taylor wrinkled her nose and went back to her sketch of a PRT officer, no longer interested in the conversation.  
  
Anne flopped over and leaned her head on Taylor’s shoulder.  
  
“Our sisters are massive cape nerds,” she said, sighing as if it was a great burden.  
  
Taylor smiled. “The PRT are cooler than the heroes.”  
  
Anne snorted. “And you’re an even bigger PRT nerd.”  
  
Taylor didn’t deny it. She was rather proud of that fact, actually._  
  
~~~~~  
  
PRT Department Two's training facilities were state of the art. Every weight machine was polished, clean enough to see your face in it.  
  
The exercise courses looked like something one of the 'tinkers' in a cheesy Hollywood film might've designed. Special ventilation systems funnelled away the smells of sweat and energy drinks.  
  
Everywhere I looked, PRT agents were sparring, training, drilling and generally looking badass.  
  
They were all regular people working to be at the pinnacle of human ability, so that civilians were safe from the dangers parahumans posed.  
  
It was pretty much my favourite place in the world. No one looked at me funny. No one cringed away from my bodyguards. In fact, most of the time I'd get a few faces I'd never seen before giving me pointers on my form, or offering to spot for me, or helping me with a spar.  
  
I was seen as just another young trainee who would one day be one of them. I wasn’t a burden; I didn’t have to be protected.  
  
I could be  _myself_.  
  
It was fucking beautiful.  
  
Not so beautiful today, though, I thought as I dodged another of Mike's brutal kicks.  
  
"Pay attention. Distraction kills," he barked as he darted towards me again, forcing me on the retreat.  
  
One of the first things he'd taught me after agreeing to help me train was to judge an opponent, and pick battles. Sure, there was no way to really tell what a parahuman could do just from a glance, but the PRT didn't just fight parahumans.  
  
He'd been a good teacher in that regard, and he'd done more than enough to drill into my head that fighting someone so much bigger than me head on was a bad idea.  
  
So I stuck to dodging, parrying, and counterattacking. If he moved forward, I'd move back. If he overstepped, I'd try get a kick in. If there was nowhere for me to go, I'd try to twist around his blows rather than trying to block them straight on.  
  
It didn't always work. He was a seasoned agent in the PRT and I was a moderately fit teenage girl. There were some disadvantages I just wouldn't be able to overcome.  
  
I sidestepped a punch and got an elbow into his ribs, earning a soft grunt before he countered, forcing me back with a barrage of quick jabs. Not as quick as he could've been--I wouldn't have been able to dodge them if he wasn't holding back--but more than fast enough to put an amateur like me through my paces.  
  
We fell into a simple routine of attacks and counterattacks, slowly working through the various styles I was learning. Mike went from jabs, to stronger swinging punches, to quick kicks, to more powerful kicks.  
  
Once he was satisfied I was dealing well enough in those areas, he started mixing things up, putting me even more on the back foot.  
  
If I didn't know better, I'd swear he was a precog. On the few occasions I tried to go on the attack, it almost seemed like he was dodging my punches before I'd even thrown them.  
  
Our spar couldn’t have lasted more than five minutes after that, but it felt like an eternity before he had me in a submission hold, and I tapped out. Mike rolled off and hopped to his feet, breathing a little harshly but otherwise appearing ready for another eleven rounds.  
  
"Good fight," he said with a jovial smile. I wanted to hit him, but we'd already seen how far I'd get with that.  
  
I flopped to the floor with the grace of a boneless hippo. I was covered in sweat, and it took me another minute to catch my breath enough to even say anything.  
  
"I suck," I said. Gasped, really. "Can't even get a good hit in."  
  
Mike scoffed and lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to me. "I've been doing this for a while, kid. You'll beat the shit out of most kids your age, with the level you're at." He tapped my on the forehead. "Come on. Up. Breathing exercises, then warm down."  
  
I groaned, but dragged myself into a sitting position that mirrored his. Back when I'd first started I'd neglected warm downs a few times. The pulled muscles had soon shown me how stupid I was.  
  
Turns out one should listen to professionals when they tell you to do something.  
  
Mike proceeded to lead me through a routine of stretches, going through breathing exercises to lower the heart rate at the same time. They were probably unnecessary to him, this being hardly a workout by his standards, but the effect they had on me was blatantly apparent.  
  
My breathing levelled out about halfway through the routine, until the horrible feeling of dry burning in my chest was gone. My arms were a bit sore, but it was much easier to lift them.  
  
My legs were still pretty much jelly, but I could deal with that.  
  
When we were finished, once again sat in a cross-legged position, I felt something cold and wet press against the back of my neck. I let out a little yelp and leaned forward to escape.  
  
I scowled at the chuckle behind me, and whipped around to glare.  
  
Amed smiled back, baring his ridiculously white teeth. He shook a water bottle in front of my face. "Thought you'd be needing this."  
  
I grumbled about annoying bodyguards under my breath, but took it with a quiet 'thank you' all the same. It took me a second to realise how thirsty I was, then I pretty much downed it in one.  
  
Amed looked unbearably smug and offered his hand. "Told you so."  
  
"Not exactly the most difficult deduction," I replied as I let him pull me to my feet.  
  
He turned his attention to Mike. "Good session?"  
  
"She's coming along well enough," Mike replied before I could give my own, admittedly rather pessimistic, thoughts on the matter. "She'll have a good head start on her fellow recruits if she joins up."  
  
I smiled.  
  
"Good for her. I'll be shocked if they know what to do with her, though. Chameleon will beat up any drill sergeant who tries to give her shit." Amed smirked.  
  
My smile fell, replaced by a glare. "I won't need Chameleon."  
  
Amed held up his hands in mock surrender. "Only kidding. The Chief-Director would've already got to them long before you even showed up for boot camp. 'My daughter's starting here next week, so be kind to her. In unrelated news, there are several new postings to be filled at the Madison containment zone.'"  
  
I huffed a laugh despite myself, then rushed to school my expression when I noticed Amed's smug grin. Bastard.  
  
From one moment to the next, though, his grin morphed into the professional expression I'd grown familiar with over the past week.  
  
"In all seriousness, though," he said, crossing his arms, "how's it going? Anything else you want help with?"  
  
I thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. I don't know enough to know how much I don't know, if you get me?"  
  
Amed nodded and motioned for me to continue.  
  
"It fucking sucks feeling helpless while a bunch of people are out fighting for me, so I want to be able to take care of myself, even if I won’t be allowed to actually fight. I just don't know how to go about doing that." I paused for a moment, looking between Mike and Amed. "So, I dunno, could we just step things up? Like, just in general?"  
  
Amed and Mike shared a brief look, then Mike spoke. "We can do that. Get you on a tougher exercise plan. We've been kind of working in general stuff for a while now, without a true goal. Didn't want to interfere in your school and--"  
  
"I don't really see myself doing anything else other than joining the PRT. And if you were about to say 'interfering in my life', I won't talk to you for a week."  
  
Mike laughed. "What a horror that would be." He shrugged one shoulder. "If you're sure the PRT's the career for you, we can step things up, sure. Get you working on the kind of things an officer needs to know, rather than just self defence and fitness."  
  
"Though fitness would still be a thing," Amed added, smirking again. "Even more of a thing, actually. PRT officers need to be at the top of their game. If you're gonna be out there potentially fighting capes, you need to be at the peak."  
  
Mike nodded in agreement. "Unless you want to be a boring pencil pusher, you'll need to step up the running, at least."  
  
“I can deal.”  
  
I chewed my lip. Mom hadn't wanted me out running since the incident with the West Coast Kings a few weeks back, even if my guards were with me. I wouldn't quite say she'd been paranoid, since she was still sending me to school and letting me out, but she'd been extra protective since that incident.  
  
It wasn't that much different from the dozen or so other times villains had made a play at me in my life--it certainly wasn't as bad as Venice Beach--but mom seemed convinced I was in some kind of mortal danger.  
  
Mom didn't do the whole mother hen thing, but she did worry. She was just more subtle about it. Like my recent acquaintance with Amed, for example. My entire bodyguard squad, come to think of it.  
  
Usually, my guards were rotated periodically, and they didn't really introduce themselves to me by name. I'd taken to labelling them by number until they were rotated out for a new batch. Mike was an exception, I'd known him for a long time, he'd gone above and beyond to help me out of a tough spot, and he'd thus proved himself more than trusted.  
  
I didn't technically have a 'leader' of my security--even Mike had been rotated away from the job countless times, he was just the only one that came back--but if there was one, Mike was it.  
  
Now, however, things had changed. When Mom left to go back to Washington a week ago, she'd introduced me to six PRT agents, Mike included, who would be my 'permanent protection detail'.  
  
I didn't know why this new arrangement had come about. They didn't know why this new arrangement had come about.  
  
But here we were.  
  
Standing in PRT Department Two's training facilities, with Amed snapping his fingers in front of my face.  
  
"Earth to Taylor. Come in—"  
  
I batted his hand away and smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, lost in thought a bit. You were saying?"  
  
Amed raised an eyebrow. "Right. We were just saying we're done training for now, and were asking what you plan to do for the rest of the day?"  
  
I thought about it. There wasn't really anything for me to do. Weekends sucked like that. At least on weekdays I could break up the boredom by going to school.  
  
I told them as much, and Mike laughed. "Well, we can spar some more, if you want?"  
  
My legs ached in protest of that idea. "I'll think of something else to do," I said, heading for the changing rooms. Mike and Amed's laughs saw me off.  
  
Monika, another member of my new protection detail, looked up from where she was reading a book on a bench by the exit and got up to flank me.  
  
I let out a long breath and rubbed at my neck. Apparently, even in the heart of one of the biggest PRT headquarters in the country I wasn't considered safe enough to walk around alone.  
  
Either that or Monika was taking my mother's orders too seriously. From what I'd seen of her so far, that was definitely something I could imagine her doing. I turned my head to try get a subtle look at her expression.  
  
Well, more like a subtle look  _up_  at her expression. The Czech woman was a head taller than me, and she had the ripped muscles of an athlete. Her ever-present ponytail hardly even moved as she walked.  
  
She gave me a questioning look when she caught me staring at her.  
  
I shook my head and muttered "nothing", having abruptly forgotten what I was even looking at her for in the first place.  
  
Monika took a seat in the corner of the locker room and opened her book as I headed to grab my toiletries. A dozen or so women stood around in the locker room, naked without shame, trading jokes and laughing, so I stripped off my sports bra and shorts, gathered up a towel and headed for the showers without shame. No one batted an eye.  
  
The showers, like the rest of the training facility, were high-tech. It was similar to the one we had at home, so I knew how to operate it easy enough. The press of a button had the water at the right temperature in an instant, and I stepped under the stream, washing away the sweat.  
  
I spent a good ten minutes in there, luxuriating at the feeling of the warm water that I was sure had some kind of 'liquefied muscle massage' mixed in. But all good things must come to an end, so I washed my hair, scrubbed down the last of the lingering sweat and grime off my body, then strode back into the locker room.  
  
It was the work of a minute to towel myself off, then dry my hair with yet another high-tech contraption, this time a thing that vaguely resembled a hair drier, but glowed red. I threw on my clothes for the day, just a skirt, a camisole, a fleece jumper, and my scarf, then headed for the exit.  
  
Monika fell in beside me once again. "You're in a good mood today," she said, regarding me curiously.  
  
"I suppose I am," I said with a smile. It didn't take much for me to figure out why.  
  
A lot of things had sucked recently. There was a lot to feel absolutely fucking awful about.  
  
But today I'd gotten something to feel good about. Mike had been training me anyway, but before, like he said, it'd been about self defence and getting myself fit. Learning to run, learning to protect myself.  
  
I appreciated those lessons and the feeling of safety that knowledge gave me, even if it was small.  
  
From now on, though, we'd be training with a goal in mind.  _The_  goal in mind. It had never truly been acknowledged in our sessions before, though Mike had joked about it a few times.  
  
Joining the PRT.  
  
I'd wanted to join the PRT for as long as I could remember. When I was a kid, it'd just started out with me worshipping my mother, as a child was going to do.  
  
It had evolved beyond that over the years. In my mind, the PRT were heroes just as much as the protectorate were.  
  
I'd seen the good people among them, the ones who'd throw down their lives for the sake of others. The ones who'd battle against people with physics-breaking abilities and terrifying powers, all for the sake of protecting the populace.  
  
I'd seen brave people throw their lives away for  _me_.  
  
People who lived for the sake of others. They were heroes, no doubt about it.  
  
And just like I'd wanted to be like mom as a kid, I wanted to be like them now.  
  
If my training stepped up, that would mean I was finally on the way.  
  
Like this, I could imagine a day in the distant future when I would be able to fight for myself. People wouldn’t have to fight for me, get hurt and die for me. I could live for the sake of others, too, and hopefully start paying back all that had been sacrificed for me.  
  
A smile spread on my lips, a light feeling in my chest, as I played with my scarf.  
  
Amed and Mike met us outside the changing rooms, in the corridors of the PRT office proper, each of them now dressed up in their PRT uniforms once more. They both looked at me strangely, but I couldn't be bothered to school my expression as I walked past them.  
  
"What's with her? Something good happen in the locker room?" I heard Amed ask, quickly followed by what sounded like a painful punch to the arm, but ignored it.  
  
Things were looking up.  
  
It was only as we were halfway to mom's office that I stopped, remembering she was in Washington right now. I let out a sigh and decided I'd call her later.  
  
However, that left me a problem. One that Mike had already brought up.  
  
"What the hell am I going to do for the rest of the day?" I muttered under my breath.  
  
I really didn't want to go home and spend the rest of the day in an empty house.  
  
Monika stepped into my line of vision and waved her hand in front of my face. "Miss Taylor?" Monika spoke, her voice heavily accented. "Is everything okay?"  
  
I blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, just trying to figure out how to spend the day."  
  
"We still have to go grab Chameleon," Amed said. "Told him we’d meet him in the protectorate common room. So why don't we go do that first?"  
  
I grimaced at the thought of the green-skinned monstrous cape. He wasn't a bad guy, from what I had been told--I couldn't say for sure since he hadn't actually spoke a word to me in the three weeks I'd known him--but the thought of having a Ward, a cape, on my permanent security detail didn't sit well with me.  
  
I figured there were a lot more important things he could be doing than following a 16-year-old girl around. He had a useful ability. Making himself utterly invisible, paired with strength and reflexes a regular human couldn't hope to achieve along with accelerated healing, made for a formidable combatant.  
  
It was probably for that same reasoning he'd been assigned to my protection.  
  
Up until then, I'd only had a Ward following me around at school. Maybe taking a ride home with me, if tensions were running high in the city.  
  
But apparently this guy was going to be around full time. As a monstrous cape, he didn't have a family to go home to, so from a pragmatic perspective I could see that he was 'perfect' for the job.  
  
But, emotionally, from a fucking human perspective, I couldn’t imagine myself feeling comfortable knowing a cape was around twenty-four seven, even if I knew his power.  
  
Moreover, leaving the training room had been like waking up from a nice dream and getting slapped around the face by reality. Bodyguards following my every move. People looking at me. The sinking feeling that my life wasn’t under my control.  
  
I could feel my good mood slipping away. It was like trying to catch a stream of water with my hands, but I tried to think happier thoughts as we headed towards the Protectorate area of the building.  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
PRT Department Two was an enormous building. A skyscraper boasting dozens of floors, it was second only to, as the name suggested, Department One in New York. The training rooms were based on the thirtieth floor, the same floor as mom's office, while the area we needed was on the fifty-third floor.  
  
Amed joked about taking the stairs, and laughed at my thoroughly disapproving look.  
  
The elevator was large enough to fit twenty people with plenty of room, and I hardly felt any change as it started moving. If it weren't for the floor counter and the doors opening periodically to let PRT personnel off and on, it'd be easy to mistake it for any other room.  
  
There was plenty of traffic though, with people rushing about all over the place, so it took us a good few minutes to make it up to the Protectorate East's floor of the building.  
  
Chameleon wasn't actually a part of Los Angeles Protectorate East's command structure anymore, answering only to Alexandria and my mother, but apparently he had decided to entertain himself by hanging out with his old teammates.  
  
When we entered the L.A.P.E.'s common room, though, we found him sat alone in front of a giant TV, watching some crappy hollywood cape film. Quite a few other heroes in the room were giving him dirty looks, but his expression was impassive, bored as ever.  
  
Mike walked up and tapped him on the shoulder. "We're moving out, Chameleon," he said, tone strict and professional.  
  
Chameleon shrugged one shoulder and lazily rose to his feet without a word. He ambled towards me, then took up a position by my side without once glancing in my direction. Another of the heroes was quick to dive on the TV remote and change the channel. A collective sigh of relief swept through the room.  
  
I stood still for a moment, watching his strange reptilian eyes. It was difficult to discern any emotion from such an inhuman feature, so I couldn't tell how dissatisfied he was with the situation.  
  
It wasn't just his appearance that made me uncomfortable--though the scaly green skin and the eyes for which he was named were certainly odd--thinking about it, nor was it that he was a cape. It was his apathy.  
  
Or, well, not his apathy in and of itself. It was more the fact that he didn't seem to care about anything but the task he'd been saddled with. That it seemed like all that mattered to him were his orders to protect me.  
  
I wanted to say something. Ask him questions. But I couldn't find the right words. He was what mom called a case 53, and from what I'd heard about them the reason he didn't appear to be particularly attached to anything should have been obvious.  
  
Deciding it was probably best not to offend him, I turned on my heel and walked back towards the exit, the rest of my guards moving back in silently to flank me.  
  
There were a lot of people staring, and I had the horrible feeling most of them were looking at  _me_. The Protectorate section wasn't like the PRT training area; in fact it was the opposite.  
  
People here stared at me a lot more than usual. Probably wondering why I had three PRT heavies and a cape as bodyguards, if they didn't know who I was.  
  
I grit my teeth, the last of my good mood evaporating completely.  
  
None of my guards made any other suggestions, so I decided to head down to the PRT break room on the sixteenth floor. People would know Mike there, so there'd be no problems with me being there without mom. There were enough table games there to keep me occupied, even if I sucked at them.  
  
We stepped back into the elevator, where I was met by a familiar face. Striking green eyes widened for a second before Tiffany schooled her expression, shoving her hands into the pockets of her black PRT-issue tracksuit.  
  
"Oh, Taylor. I didn't know you were here today," she said, shooting a brief look at Chameleon. "Were you training?"  
  
I nodded awkwardly. The elevator wasn't quite as crowded as the one we'd taken up here, but there was still a dozen people or so. Not exactly the place I wanted to have a conversation.  
  
"That's cool. Nice to see you're getting back into it," Tiffany continued. "You were mad about training before that whole...  _thing_  happened." She smiled weakly. "I was getting worried about you."  
  
I swallowed past a lump in my throat, then pressed the button for the elevator to stop at the next floor, without looking to see which one it was.  
  
Tiffany and I hadn't talked much in the last few weeks, though she was still basically playing bodyguard for me during breaks at school. That was mostly my fault; it wasn't as if she hadn't tried.  
  
Every time she tried to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. Stilted. I hadn't realised how little I'd contributed to the conversations between the three of us in the past, how much James had filled in and bantered with Tiffany.  
  
With him gone, I came to realise how little I'd talked to Tiffany, and how little I knew about her.  
  
And then, inevitably, in the self-pitying state I'd been in, I'd started missing James, spiralling into self-loathing and guilt until I wasn't much for conversation any longer. That and being so tired I was basically walking around in a haze.  
  
And that was so shitty of me, so unfair on her. I'd fucked up her life, gotten one of her friends killed, then practically shut down and stopped talking to her.  
  
I had to make up for that, now. Take control of my life, even if it was only in a small aspect.  
  
I tugged on my scarf, holding it and the memory of Uncle Rick like a lifeline, and forced all the confidence I could muster. If I wanted things to change in my life, I had to make it happen myself.  
  
 _Take control_ , I repeated in my head like a chant.  
  
That's what Uncle Rick had always said.  
  
Steeling my resolve, I looked Tiffany in the eyes. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"  
  
"Uh, yeah. Sure, Taylor," Tiffany replied, blinking owlishly. Her eyes flicked up to the floor counter. "Well, this is convenient. Want to head to the Wards area?"  
  
I chewed my lip, my stomach suddenly churning. My newly found confidence almost wavered, but I clenched my fists and nodded once, sharply, before I could back out.  
  
Tiffany smiled, then gestured for me to go first when the elevator doors opened. We headed out into the Wards area side by side, my bodyguards following a few steps behind us silently. Tiffany slipped on a mask as we traversed the corridors in silence, before stepping up to a set of metal double doors and pressed her thumb onto a glass display. The doors parted soundlessly, revealing the Wards section of the Los Angeles Protectorate.  
  
If the PRT training area looked like something from a hollywood film, the Wards recreation room looked like something from a big-budget science fiction movie. Everything was sleek and rounded, lots of white with neon-style lighting. Doors slid open automatically with unnecessary whooshes. The walls were lined with holographic touch screen displays. A bunch of teenagers in flashy costumes and masks were milling about the area, some resting, some speaking with branding advisors or PRT reps, and some hanging out with other Wards.  
  
It wasn't much of a surprise that the PRT department tasked with overseeing branding and marketing had such great design, but it was still impressive.  
  
And, at the same time, nauseating. It was what I imagined the recreational room at a talent agency looked like.  
  
It didn’t help that I was acutely aware of Bat and Phaser staring at me. They hadn’t been my biggest fans when they were assigned to guarding me, though I never found out why. I imagined their hostility had increased tenfold with what happened to Falcon.  
  
I couldn't help the grimace from showing on my face. Tiffany appeared to notice, but fortunately her own reaction was a snort and a roll of her eyes.  
  
"This way." She gestured towards a door at the end of the room. "My room's in the long stay area."  
  
I nodded and followed along as Tiffany led us through another series of corridors that wouldn't have been out of place on a spaceship in a sci-fi movie, before stopping at a set of doors labelled '31'. She placed her thumb on another glass display. It pinged, then the doors slid open.  
  
Tiffany strode in, at ease. I paused for a moment.  
  
"Tiffany?"  
  
She looked over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised.  
  
I waved vaguely to my guards. "Are you okay with...?" I trailed off, the question left unspoken.  
  
Tiffany smiled. "It's fine, they can come in." Her eyes searched mine for a moment. "We can talk in my bedroom if you want some privacy."  
  
I nodded, muttering a thanks, then entered her living quarters. I tried not to be too obvious as I looked around, but I couldn't help being curious.  
  
In a word, it was spartan. Tiffany seemed to have little in the way of personal effects in the main area of the living quarters. There was a dining room with a white circular table, a living room with simple couches arranged in a semi circle before a large TV with a small coating of dust on it, and a kitchen with appliances that would, yet again, be more at home in a sci-fi movie than real life.  
  
The grey-ish white walls were bare of pictures. The curtains were pure white and fully drawn, leaving the room to rely on the artificial light that came on as soon as the door had opened.  
  
All in all, one could easily be forgiven for thinking someone didn't even live here.  
  
Felt just like the house in Washington, in that way.  
  
Tiffany strolled towards the living room, pulling off her tracksuit top and mask and neatly folding them before placing them on the edge of a couch. She then turned to face her guests.  
  
"Feel free to take seats wherever you like," she said, smiling. "And help yourself to anything in the kitchen."  
  
No one took her up on the latter offer, but my three PRT bodyguards all took up chairs at the dining table, while Chameleon strode past Tiffany to flop down on one of the couches. He wasted no time snatching up the remote and flicking through the channels.  
  
He soon settled on yet another cheesy cape movie. I wondered if he was deliberately trying to be annoying, but his expression was blank as ever.  
  
Not that I'd be able to tell. Chameleon-eyes and all.  
  
Tiffany then turned her attention to me, and I realised I was stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, playing with my scarf.  
  
"Ah, your room then?" I tried to match her smile, but judging by her furrowed brow I didn't quite manage it.  
  
Tiffany nodded and gestured to a door at the side of the room. It slid open automatically as we approached, then closed behind us.  
  
Tiffany took a seat on the bed, running a hand through her long blonde hair to pull it out of its braid. "So? What did you want to talk about?"  
  
I took a breath. It would be best not to put the important part of this conversation off, otherwise I'd never work up the courage to do it. This wasn't exactly what I had intended to do with my day, but I was here now.  
  
I had to.  
  
"James," I said, my voice choked.  
  
Tiffany's eyes softened. "Yeah?"  
  
I took a long, shaky breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm sorry."  
  
Tiffany stood.  
  
"It's my fault he's dead," I continued. "Mom keeps telling me it's not my fault but it is. I didn't kill him, sure, but he was only there because of me."  
  
Tiffany took a step towards me, her expression painfully understanding, her eyes horribly kind. I took a step back.  
  
"He was your friend, so it's okay if you hate me.” I wiped at my eyes. "Just... I don't know. I don't even know what I want to say. Don't know what I can say. Just... I'm sorry."  
  
Tiffany darted forward and placed a hand on my shoulder before I could escape.  
  
"You should listen to your mother," she said softly. "She's a very smart woman, and she's right, here. It wasn't your fault, and you shouldn't blame yourself."  
  
I shook my head. "But—"  
  
Tiffany cut me off. "James was my friend. He could be crude at times, he went out of his way to annoy me, and he never took things seriously enough. You don't know how many times 'Falcon' got in trouble for telling dumb jokes during a rapid response call." Tiffany smiled gently and shook her head. "I'll miss him, and I'll always look back on the time I spent with him fondly, but he wouldn't want me to be moping around, crying. That's not the way he'd want people to honour his memory."  
  
My breath caught in my throat. "Celebrate their life, rather than mourn their death..." I said, my voice small. It was a good phrase. It made sense.  
  
I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to practice it.  
  
I definitely couldn’t bring myself to believe it wasn’t my fault. There was no changing my mind about that.  
  
Tiffany's smiled widened. "I like that. You should apply it, here." She tilted her head. "Where'd you hear it?"  
  
I wiped my eyes again, feeling like a kid. "My uncle said it to me at my grandmother's funeral."  
  
It was the only clear memory I had of my gram's funeral. Mom stood before the gravestone, her back turned to me. Uncle Rick had placed his hand on my shoulder, turned me away, and given me those words. I had been little older than five at the time, so it took a few years for them to sink in properly.  
  
It was a pretty phrase, but difficult to put into practice. It was difficult not to miss someone when they were gone.  
  
Tiffany sighed and walked back to her bed, pulling me along behind her. "I'm sorry if I've given you the idea that I was blaming you or something," she said. She took a seat and pulled me down next to her. "But that's not the case at all, I promise. It is absolutely not your fault, please don't ever think that." She paused for a long moment, pursing her lips. "If you feel you owe him, then yeah, that's your debt to pay, and you should pay it yourself. You already want to join the PRT, though, so I think you'll have that covered."  
  
I nodded. "Not sure how I could pay him back for that, though."  
  
"It's something you'll have to figure out for yourself, I imagine." She paused again. "You really thought I blamed you?"  
  
"Not necessarily," I whispered. "It was more like I blame myself, so I assumed you would, too. We didn't exactly get to talk much, so..."  
  
Tiffany sighed. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that. It just felt a bit awkward, you know? I tried, but I really didn't know how to get a conversation going."  
  
A laugh escaped my lips before I could stop it, though I quickly cut it off. "My fault again, I think. I haven't made for the best company, recently." I fiddled with the hems of my scarf. "James was always the one leading conversation, I guess. Making his dumb jokes. Flirting with you. Felt kind of like there was something missing without him."  
  
"Your fault? I'm the one that always told myself I was going to try get to know you better, only to keep leaving it all to James. I shouldn't have turned into a socially stunted moron as soon as he was gone."  
  
"You think you're the socially stunted one? I had to hype myself up just to ask you to talk."  
  
Tiffany barked a laugh. "You must be joking. I wanted to run away as soon as I saw you in the elevator. I thought I was going to pass out when you asked to talk."  
  
I raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Really? You didn't look like it."  
  
"I've been a Ward in  _Los Angeles_  for two years, darling." She gave me a look. "If I can smile for rabid paparazzi, I can keep it cool in front of a pretty lady. Besides, running away from a problem isn’t what a hero would do."  
  
I laughed at that. It felt freeing, somehow. "You're starting to sound like James."  
  
We laughed together for a little while, and when silence descended again, it was more comfortable than it had been in weeks.  
  
Tiffany flopped back on the bed. "Can I ask you a weird question here?" She asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
  
I replied with a confused "yes", then waited.  
  
It was a full minute before Tiffany spoke again. "Are we friends?"  
  
I blinked. Twice. Thrice. That I had to even think about the question probably said it all, but I answered anyway.  
  
"I hope we can be. I'd like to try, at least."  
  
Tiffany smiled. "I know you're uncomfortable around parahumans"--she hit me in the face with a pillow to cut off my protests--"I've read your file. I get it. It's completely understandable. But I'd like to try, too. As Tiffany, I mean." She paused for a moment, taking a breath. "Don't worry about Praetor. She's supposed to protect you at school, but apart from that? Just forget about it."  
  
I forced a smile. "I can try, I guess."  
  
But I couldn’t stop thinking about James when I looked at her. It was good to know she wasn’t blaming me--or at least claimed she wasn’t.  
  
It just didn’t make me feel any better.  
  
~  
  
We returned to the living room shortly after that. Everyone was pretty much in the same positions as we'd left them, though Amed and Monika were now playing cards, and Chameleon was splayed out with his tail hanging over the edge of the couch.  
  
Tiffany shot him a dirty look, but didn't say anything.  
  
The only person missing was Mike. I approached the two remaining PRT officers.  
  
"Hey, where's Mike?" I asked.  
  
Before either of them could reply, the front door opened, and Mike strode back in with his phone in hand, expression serious. His eyes locked straight on me.  
  
"Taylor, we'll be staying in the PRT building tonight."  
  
I froze in place. "What happened?"  
  
"She can stay here if we need to be on guard," Tiffany said.  
  
Mike gave her a quick nod, then focused back on me. "There was a breach in your home's security. We suspect a Master/Stranger situation. We can't go back there."  
  
Amed and Monika both shot to their feet. I heard Chameleon stir behind me.  
  
My heart dropped and my vision blurred. "A Stranger?"  
  
That was the last thing I needed to hear right now.  
  
~~~~~


	6. Chapter 4 - Action

**Taylor Costa-Brown Chapter four - Activity**  
  
  
 _Alexandria clenched and unclenched her fists, staring through the window into the operating theatre where Contessa was working on her daughter, unable to take her eyes off the scene for even a moment._  
  
 _She knew, on some logical level, that it was all but guaranteed Taylor would be okay. Contessa was greater than any surgeon._  
  
 _Still, irrationality and fear were the prerogatives of an angry mother._  
  
 _And she was angry._  
  
 _On a level she had never experienced before._  
  
 _On a level that, quite frankly, terrified her._  
  
 _She had experienced rage, before. She was a veteran of many battles, and she’d seen the most sickening atrocities the filthy underside of humanity had to offer._  
  
 _But never had she felt rage like this._  
  
 _She had felt the urge to kill. When the Siberian had plunged her hands into Richard’s chest, and his body had fallen to the floor in two halves, she had wanted nothing more than to tear the woman’s throat out._  
  
 _Even that feeling paled in comparison to those churning inside her now._  
  
 _She thought back, searching through her catalogue of memories, to the look on the Gypsy Mafia’s faces when she’d found them. They thought they were protected by the ‘rules’. They’d held out their arms, smirking, as if she was about to cuff them._  
  
 _They had thought they were going to walk away alive._  
  
 _She had been very thorough in convincing them otherwise._  
  
 _Doctor Mother’s voice came from behind her, lifting her out of her thoughts. “What do you want to do?” she asked._  
  
 _“About what?”_  
  
 _“The parahumans you captured.”_  
  
 _Alexandria paused, her lips thinning._  
  
 _She’d taken pleasure in slaughtering the rank and file of the Gypsy Mafia, enjoyed the looks of pure fear on their faces. Her costume was still covered in their blood._  
  
 _But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do the same to the parahuman members of the group. Death would be too easy for them, she had thought. No amount of pain would be enough to punish them._  
  
 _For that reason, she decided she could only take the pragmatic course of action. Nothing she could do to them would make her feel better, not really, so it was best to put them to use._  
  
 _“Do what you want with them. Experiment on them. Brainwash them to do your bidding. I don’t care, just make it so they never set foot on Earth Bet again.”_  
  
 _The Doctor was silent for a moment. “As you wish.”_  
  
 _“But not the leader,” Alexandria snarled. “Put her in with Subject 627. Never let her out.”_  
  
 _It was the first and only time Alexandria gave Doctor Mother an order, but Cauldron’s leader made no complaint._  
  
 _“You’re being extremely cooperative,” Alexandria said, turning to face the Doctor, but keeping one eye on the operation. “Going out of your way, even.”_  
  
 _The Doctor’s eyes were on Taylor, but they were unfocused. “I’d like to think we learn from our mistakes.”_  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
"Taylor, calm down." Mom's voice cut through my thoughts, anchoring me to the present. "Take deep breaths. You've been taught what to do in this situation, don't lose your head."  
  
I tried to control my breathing like she said, but no matter what I did it felt like my lungs weren't getting enough air. My heart wouldn't stop pounding. I could distantly feel someone rubbing my back, but it wasn't helping at all.  
  
I dug my fingers into the fabric of my jumper, trying to stop my hand from shaking. My other hand was occupied holding the phone to my ear, so it wasn't so bad.  
  
"But a  _Stranger_ , mom." I could barely recognise my own voice. "She could be anywhere. Do anything—"  
  
Mom's sharp voice cut me off. "There is currently a suspected Master/Stranger incident at our home. You are in the heart of Los Angeles' PRT department. You’re surrounded by hundreds of heroes and PRT personnel. You’re safe, Taylor. Please, calm down."  
  
I tried to believe her, to trust that the parahumans would protect me, that the officers of the PRT wouldn't let anything happen to me.  
  
But I couldn't.  
  
I'd heard this all before. They'd told me I would be protected, and I'd still ended up with Edna standing over me, laughing.  
  
I hadn’t thought about her in months, but now I couldn't shake the memory.  
  
How was I supposed to feel safe when Mom was on the other side of the country?  
  
A small part of me was indignant at the idea of needing to be protected, but for once I couldn't bring myself to fucking care.  
  
"I'm not safe," I said, voice cracking. "I never am."  
  
The hand on my back stilled for a second, but soon continued. Someone was standing in front of me, but I ignored them.  
  
It took a moment for mom to reply. "I will call Alexandria personally to let her know you're in the building. No one will get past her, Taylor. If nothing else, believe that a member of the Triumvirate will not let you come to harm."  
  
I breathed in sharply. If I was Rose, I might have believed that.  
  
Mom wouldn't be impressed if I told her I didn't trust Alexandria, though, and I'd already burdened her enough for one evening.  
  
Mom considered Alexandria a friend—though I didn't get why; I'd barely heard Alexandria speak two words to mom—and trusted her implicitly. It was one of the reasons we lived in LA; mom really did think I was safe as long I was under the Triumvirate leader's watchful eye.  
  
That and we couldn't bring ourselves to leave Uncle Rick's old house behind.  
  
Otherwise, we might've lived in Washington permanently. It certainly would've been easier on mom, that way.  
  
"Taylor? Are you still there?"  
  
I startled, then quickly realised I hadn't replied. Mom probably thought I was in the midst of a panic attack.  
  
I was such a burden on her.  
  
"Yeah, sorry." I trailed off, my breathing painful. I felt pathetic. "I'm sorry."  
  
I took a moment to center myself, trying to force thoughts of Edna and Strangers and primal fear out of my mind. My breathing exercises didn't come easily. It was like my body was fighting against me every time I tried to calm myself down.  
  
But, eventually, the feeling that I was drowning abated, and I greedily sucked air into my lungs.  
  
Mom's voice was a lot softer when she replied. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Don't be ridiculous. You are not, and never will be a bother to me, Taylor."  
  
I let out a small laugh. It was uncanny how easily mom guessed what I was thinking.  
  
"You're too soft on me, mom," I said. I wiped at my eyes, blinking a few times as the room came into focus. The fingers of my left hand ached painfully, and my nails were chipped and bleeding.  
  
Chameleon was directly in front of me, only two meters or so away, staring at me intently with an unreadable expression. Tiffany was next to me, pressed close to my side, rubbing a slow circle on my back. She smiled when she noticed me looking at her, and reached down to squeeze my hand, but she said nothing.  
  
All my bodyguards were in the room now, too. Adrian, Rinko and Jonathan joined Amed, Monika and Mike. Monika and Mike flanked the door, while Amed and Adrian were by the windows. Jonathan and Rinko sat a short distance away, typing frantically on a laptop and talking on the phone respectively. They were all kitted out in full combat gear.  
  
Somehow, the sight of the guns in their hands did a better job of calming me than anything else so far.  
  
"I'm going to contact Alexandria now, alright?" Mom spoke up again when I didn't reply. "I'll have to hang up for—"  
  
I cut in immediately. "No, don't go. Stay on the phone. Please."  
  
The line was silent for a moment. "If that's what you want." I heard the faint click-clack of a keyboard. "Tell me about your day, Taylor."  
  
I huffed a laugh. My 'day' felt like it happened in a different lifetime, even though we only got the alert about the stranger around ten minutes ago.  
  
"I trained with Amed and Mike," I said.  
  
Mom made a quiet, approving noise. "How did it go?"  
  
"Well enough. Not quite gonna be fighting brutes anytime soon, but Mike said I'm good for my age." I chewed my lip and fingered the edges of my scarf. "We're going to start stepping things up. Looking at preparing me to join the PRT, when I get out of college."  
  
"It's good to have something to aim for," mom said neutrally. I could never tell whether she approved of my ambition to join the PRT or not. She'd never really said anything on the subject. "What did you train in?"  
  
"Well, certainly not the ‘curl up in a ball and wait for someone to help you’ routine the PRT usually gives me.” My voice came out a bit more venomous than I intended. I took a moment to catch my breath again. “Weights. Running on the treadmill, and a bunch more cardio. Then Mike showed me a few new forms and we sparred a little. Nothing too fancy."  
  
"But you're enjoying training? You feel it's doing you good?"  
  
I nodded, then felt a little silly when I remembered she couldn't see me. She probably knew I did it anyway, somehow, but still.  
  
"It's doing great for me." I paused. Hesitated. "Doing something I actually want to do, you know? My choice."  
  
"That's good to hear, Taylor." The clacking of keys stopped, and I heard shuffling fabric as mom moved. "Alexandria should be on her way down to see you. She wanted to talk to you. Will you be okay, now?"  
  
I was about to ask her to stay on the phone, but stopped myself. I was being selfish enough as it was. She'd already done enough to calm me down, even while she probably had  _way_  more important things to do. She’d been complaining about the nightmare that was the Madison containment zone, and an apparent breakout.  
  
My stomach flipped as I remembered how pathetic I'd been for the last ten minutes, taking her time. All my resolve to 'take control' had crumbled, and I'd defaulted to leaning on others in an instant.  
  
"I'll be fine," I lied.  
  
As soon as she hung up, I dialled another number and prayed. The call tone went on for a long while, and I was just about to hang up when the call tone cut out, replaced by a deep male voice.  
  
“Hebert residence.”  
  
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey, Dad. It’s Taylor. Is Rose there?”  
  
"Oh, Taylor. Hey, honey," he said without a hint of concern in his voice. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. "Yeah, give me a second."  
  
There was a bit of shuffling on the other end of the line, footsteps getting progressively quieter. A minute or so passed where I kept my focus on my surroundings before footsteps approached the phone again.  
  
"Hey, Taylor. What's up?"  
  
Rose's voice was music to my ears, and I couldn't help a smile. I got up and walked to the other end of the room, looking for a bit of privacy but not confident enough to go to the bedroom on my own.  
  
"Not a lot," I spoke with all the surety I could muster. "Just wanted to talk."  
  
Of course, Rose saw through that in an instant, as I'd expected she would.  
  
"Taylor? What's wrong?" The concern in her voice was evident, even if she was slightly hushed. "Has something happened?"  
  
"Oh, just some fucking parahuman after me. Another bright Saturday in Los Angeles."  
  
"A parahuman? What's going on over there? I thought you were supposed to have bodyguards?"  
  
I clenched my fists. "I do have bodyguards. It's alright, I'm not actually in danger right now," I paused, screwing my eyes shut and willing images of Edna away. "I'm at the PRT, and there was apparently a Stranger at my house. I kinda freaked out, for obvious reasons. Needed someone to talk to."  
  
I noticed Tiffany staring at me as Rose spoke. "What about your mom?"  
  
My nails dug painfully into the skin of my palm. "In Washington, so really busy."  
  
There was a moment of silence. "Well, you'll just get mad at me if I give my opinions on that, so I'll just keep quiet, I guess." Another pause. "So what actually happened? A Stranger?"  
  
I was about to reply, but was cut off as my bodyguards reacted to an unseen signal or command, and moved to the corners of the room, the two who had been on the phone and computer standing to face the door. Tiffany's skin glowed, then a bright green fire washed over her body, leaving luminescent green armour in its place, and furled wings hanging from her back.  
  
Chameleon stayed on the couch, of course, though his eyes swivelled to the doorway.  
  
A few seconds later, the doors slid open and Alexandria stepped into the room.  
  
 _Stepped_. Mom had once told me Alexandria—and flying parahumans in general—didn't float around everywhere so she wouldn't seem so intimidatingly inhuman. It didn't help, if you asked me. Her name alone carried enough weight and reputation to give her presence regardless of how friendly she was trying to seem.  
  
That, and I couldn't shake the image of her covered in blood, the leader of the West Coast Kings reduced to a pile of red pulp before her regal form.  
  
Just like Mike had done, her gaze fixed on me the moment she entered. She strode towards me, the picture of grace, and stopped a few feet away. I distantly heard Rose calling my name, but any reply caught in my throat. I lowered the phone from my ear.  
  
"Taylor." Alexandria greeted me with a nod. Her voice was clipped and formal. Distant, even. Just as she always was on the occasions I had met her. "I regret that we always seem to meet under these circumstances. It is my failure that you continue to be harassed like this within my city, so I must extend my deepest apologies."  
  
I nodded mutely. What the hell was I supposed to say to that?  
  
When Alexandria said something, it was so. If she thought it was some personal failing of hers, who was I to argue?  
  
My reflection in her visor looked pathetically small.  
  
"I would like to offer you a room near my quarters, on the top floor of the building," she continued. "I will be able to keep an eye on you at all times when I am present. The heroes I mentor also stay there. And I promise you that every single one of them are the elite of the elite, trusted completely by both your mother and myself, to keep watch over you when I am not present. There is no safer place on the west coast."  
  
I was sure she believed that, and maybe there was some truth to it, but it really wasn't making me feel better.  
  
I nodded anyway. What else could I do?  
  
Alexandria turned her attention to Tiffany--no,  _Praetor_ , who stiffened and stood to attention.  
  
"Praetor, thank you for your assistance," she said. "The Chief-Director and I are immensely grateful for your dedication. You are an exemplary hero."  
  
Tiffany's eyes widened and she somehow stood up even straighter. I imagined it was a great feeling for a parahuman to be complemented by Alexandria like that.  
  
"Only doing my duty, ma'am," Praetor said, "as any hero would."  
  
Alexandria nodded. She barely glanced at Chameleon before turning back to me.  
  
"Well then—"  
  
She was cut off by a high-pitched whirring siren. It lasted about three seconds, before a deeper alarm sounded three times.  
  
I remembered my phone at the last second, and put it back to my ear. "Sorry, Rose, got to go."  
  
"Wait, what's going on? Was that Alexandria—"  
  
I hung up, just as Alexandria sprung into action. She grabbed my arm and almost seemed to loom over me like a shield. "In formation," she snapped. My guards crowded around me in response, drawing their weapons, faces now hidden behind reflective PRT helmets.  
  
"We head for the situation room," Alexandria continued. "Chameleon, you're on point. Praetor, hold the rear. Officers, no one gets close to Miss Costa-Brown, am I clear?"  
  
A chorus of "yes, ma'am," and then we were moving, Alexandria practically dragging me along. We emerged into the Wards' common room to chaos. Dozens of teens pulling themselves into their costumes, running and flying to god knows where, shouting or requesting orders into their communicators.  
  
"Clear a path." Alexandria's shout parted the crowd like a knife through butter. We moved through the room as a group, Alexandria designating 'team leaders' and giving them orders as we went. Every one of her commands was followed without a word of complaint. A few heroes broke off and joined the formation around me: Bat, Phaser and Looking Glass. All Movers, I noted.  
  
By the time we left the room, a semblance of order had been restored, parahumans moving in a more organised fashion. The PRT officers hadn't needed any prompting, I noted.  
  
The alarm kept going, but changed pitch slightly, the higher pitched whine lasting a second longer, while the deeper alarm now sounded five times before the sequence repeated.  
  
We picked up our pace once we were in the corridor, darting through a labyrinth of identical hallways before reaching a large, vault-like door guarded by several dozen heavily armed PRT officers and Parahumans, the only one of whom I recognised was Rime.  
  
Rime and Alexandria exchanged a nod as we got close, then she shouted an order and the vault door swung open. When it moved too slow, Alexandria flew forward and pulled it open fully, allowing us through into an enormous room.  
  
Director Knox was already there, sat in a swivelling leather chair on a raised platform at the centre of the room before an array of monitors, sipping coffee. There was a nonchalant air to her, like nothing out of the ordinary was happening. She met my eyes and greeted me with a nod and a soft smile, then turned her attention back to the screens.  
  
They showed a combination of security footage depicting a battle of some kind, a plethora of real-time written reports and updates, and a large roster of parahumans and their statuses.  
  
Glenn Chambers was by her side, watching some of the security footage over her shoulder and muttering to himself. There were a few more higher-up looking types I didn't recognise.  
  
The rest of the room was mostly occupied by PRT personnel and several more heroes surrounding the VIPs, but I was directed to where Director Knox and Mr Chambers were situated.  
  
The PRT officers who had been stationed outside followed us in along with Rime, then the great metal door closed with a hiss, cutting off the sound of the alarm.  
  
I sunk into a chair, desperate to catch my breath. My bodyguards joined the PRT officers in formation by the entrance. Bat moved to stand with the other heroes, while Looking Glass removed a glove and placed her hand on one of the monitors, ready to use her power as an escape route at a moment's notice. Praetor and Phaser lingered next to me, bodyguard and extra escape route respectively.  
  
Alexandria lingered next to me, too, though her attention was on the security footage on the monitors.  
  
I pulled my scarf halfway over my face and took a deep breath. There was a lull, and the situation room was plunged into an eerie quiet. Alexandria drifted away and leaned over to talk to Director Knox in a hushed voice.  
  
Whatever was said between them, Director Knox seemed to defer to the Triumvirate hero. I grit my teeth and looked away.  
  
I wrung my hands to keep from shaking and did my best to keep up my breathing exercises.  
  
But it was useless. Now that the adrenaline had worn off and I had a moment to think, my mind went straight to dark places.  
  
I hadn't been told what was going on, but I had a pretty good idea I knew anyway.  
  
"Edna's come back for me," I whispered, my voice breaking, eyes stinging. "She said she would."  
  
Alexandria snapped her gaze back towards me, but I didn't care. I'd told her back then, but she hadn't listened.  
  
My breathing exercises failed immediately, despite what Doctor Martins had said. It started to feel like I was drowning. Fire burned in my lungs.  
  
I'd had so many lessons, so much training on how to keep calm, but all of it went out the window the moment thought of  _her_.  
  
Memories forced themselves to the surface, and wouldn't be pushed back down. Images of my legs broken, a snarling, horrifically scarred face above me.  
  
Alexandria flew over to me, placed her hands on my shoulders and shook me once, hard—or at least hard for my standards. Hard for her probably would’ve given me whiplash.  
  
"Calm yourself, Miss Costa-Brown," she spoke with a tone of command. "Edna is gone. She cannot hurt you."  
  
I laughed. It sounded broken to my ears. False, like it was coming from someone else.  
  
"How do you know that? How can you guarantee it? She could've easily gotten away. She might've worn someone else's face, and you sent the wrong person to the Birdcage."  
  
Alexandria shook me again, but a lot more gently. "I can promise you, Miss Costa-Brown," she said, her voice taking on a darker edge, "we got the right person. I saw to her capture myself."  
  
I averted my eyes. Praetor was giving me a questioning look, but I ignored her.  
  
I wanted to believe Alexandria. My mom trusted her. My sister practically worshipped her. But the doubt nagged at the back of my mind, burrowing in like a worm.  
  
Edna was a phantom who had haunted me for so long. She could've been anyone, anywhere, at any time, and I'd never know.  
  
I started surveying the room, my eyes darting frantically between each face that was visible.  
  
Any one of them could be her.  
  
Returned for me, just like she said she would.  
  
A booming noise broke me from my thoughts. The floor shook for a second, and a few of the officers had to adjust their balance. Then a metallic banging started, coming from the doors.  
  
"Formations!" Someone called out. The PRT officers sprung into action, taking up positions with their containment foam sprayers aimed at the doors.  
  
The heroes all took battle stances, while Alexandria pulled me to my feet and placed herself between me and the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the monitors showing the security feed.  
  
From what I could tell, there were multiple people in skintight black bodysuits, covering all but their heads, rampaging through the PRT building. PRT officers met them but were swept aside with what could only be Brute strength. Only the  _heroes_  could do much against them. I caught an image of Serpentine, one of the Wards, battering them away with his giant stone snake, Hailstorm covering his back with her storms of ice.  
  
Around a dozen of the black-clad Brutes were stood directly outside the doors we'd just entered through, throwing themselves at it with no regard for their bodies. Some of their suits were glowing different colours as they impacted with the door, and as I looked up I could see it was buckling with each hit.  
  
Mom had once told me that door was supposed to be specifically designed for stopping Brutes. Was there something else at play, here?  
  
I took a shaky, painful breath, my thoughts grinding to a halt.  
  
Where had they even come from? And how the fuck had they made it all the way up here, to the situation room, in the first place? PRT Division Two was one of the most heavily guarded PRT divisions in the country.  
  
The banging on the door continued. A few officers looked at Director Knox, but she looked to Alexandria.  
  
"Looking Glass, Phaser." Both of the named Wards snapped to attention at the sound of Alexandria's voice. "Be ready to create an escape route if needed."  
  
Looking Glass nodded, furrowing her brow. Phaser, on the other hand, just looked at me then shrugged, seemingly unimpressed by the situation. Easy to do when nothing could hurt you.  
  
I fought the urge to glare at him. My breaths were still coming too fast, my heart beating too hard. My vision blurred and I thought I was going to collapse at any moment.  
  
Then the door buckled inwards, and the Brutes were through. The first two were met with multiple streams of containment foam, but it slid off their costumes and expanded on the floor around them. They darted forward, slamming into the PRT's ranks.  
  
Bat leaped into the air and flew towards the enemies. She cocked her fist back, then threw a wide, wild punch. The Brute stared at the incoming punch dumbly and made no move to dodge it.  
  
It connected with a  _crack_ , and the Brute was sent flying across the room. Bat stared after it for a moment, before dodging away from the other as more black-clad Brutes made their way through the warped door.  
  
Then, battle was joined properly. The heroes, sans Alexandria, darted forward into the fray, while the PRT retreated in formation to allow the Heroes room to engage properly. Most of them had abandoned their containment foam for their secondary options—ranging from tranquilisers to rubber bullets—and fired pot shots whenever they had openings.  
  
The ensuing moments were full of hectic battle and shouted orders. The fighting blurred together in my vision, too fast and too complicated for me to follow. The Brutes were relentless, attacking with as little care for their bodies as they'd shown in their efforts to get inside the situation room in the first place.  
  
The Heroes and PRT couldn't afford to be so reckless, and were losing ground. The enemy was largely kept at bay by Rime's barrages of expanding ice, but her constructs weren't enough to keep them fully contained.  
  
It was like a game of chess was unfolding before us, Alexandria and Director Knox watching impassively. I almost asked why Alexandria wasn't joining the fight. She could have ended this easily.  
  
But the answer came to me before I could be dumb enough to pose the question.  
  
Me.  
  
Alexandria was one of the strongest, fastest and smartest parahumans in existence, but she couldn't be in two places at once. If she was there fighting, she couldn't be protecting me, and there was always the possibility one of the Brutes would break through the ranks.  
  
The battle was being prolonged, and more people were fighting and being hurt, because of me.  
  
For once, I couldn't bring myself to feel bad about that.  
  
The idea that one of the Brutes could be Edna in disguise, or even connected to her, crushed any feelings of guilt or shame before they could manifest. I was only thinking of walking out of this building alive.  
  
I caught sight of green flames—Praetor's flames—engulfing a Brute with no effect to his body, but practically melting the skin off his head, his eyes oozing out of their sockets. He didn't even seem to notice, right up until his limbs started flailing with far less coordination than before, his burned head lolling to the side. Praetor backed away from him, staring with wide, fearful eyes. My stomach turned and I had to look away.  
  
"Their heads are vulnerable," Alexandria called out.  
  
The PRT officers exchanged looks, and some of them switched to live ammunition and prepared to fire.  
  
Before they could, another of the Brutes took a hard blow to the head, this time from a hero I didn't recognise. Their jaw cracked, disconnected, and was practically hanging off their skull. Still, the brute continued to attack, eyes wild.  
  
One of the heroes shouted out in alarm. "These poor fucks have been mastered!"  
  
The heroes backed off for half a second, and I saw the truth of it. I didn't know if it was the suits they were wearing doing it, but it was certainly having some kind of effect on them. Their eyes were wide, bloodshot bad enough that their sclera were almost entirely red, and they were all fixated on one or another of the 'VIPs' at my side of the room.  
  
The fight rejoined after the brief lull, the heroes now attacking in a much more subdued, reluctant manner. Hits were half as hard, and they were barely aiming for the heads anymore. The PRT officers who had pulled out live ammunition switched back to non-lethal measures.  
  
"They have targets," Alexandria said, quiet enough that only those close by could hear. "They've been given orders beforehand, but they're not thinking. Bastard Son?"  
  
Director Knox turned her head slightly in Alexandria's direction, but still had one eye on the battle. "This doesn’t seem like something the Elite would do. Far too overt. But who else could pull this off?"  
  
"It does make little sense," Alexandria replied. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "But the Thinkers were so sure."  
  
"Thinker powers aren't perfect."  
  
Alexandria shook her head, apparently in agreement, then spoke so quietly I could barely hear her. "This one is supposed to be."  
  
I didn't have time to think about what she meant by that, before someone shouted in alarm as one of the Brutes broke through the ranks, leaping over the PRT agents and sprinting towards us, his eyes fixed on someone behind me.  
  
I recoiled and willed myself to run, but Alexandria stepped in his path with a casual air about her. He tried to dodge past her, but she moved too fast for him, burying her fist in his stomach.  
  
He crumpled around her blow in an almost comical fashion. There was a low, keening sound, like a dying car motor, then the Brute's body went rigid and dropped to the floor, frozen in position. His eyes were still wild, focused on me.  
  
"Tinkertech bodysuits, as suspected. That combined with the apparent Master effect..." Alexandria trailed off, her gaze surveying the battle, then lingering on the Brute paralysed on the ground. Whatever she saw, she came to a decision as she looked up and raised her voice. "Praetor, Bat, Phaser, disengage and guard Miss Costa-Brown."  
  
Once the three Wards were gathered around me in defensive positions, Alexandria rose into the air and shot forward.  
  
The battle didn’t last long after that.  
  
The heroes backed away immediately, allowing Alexandria to work. In that moment, I saw why she had finally decided to join the battle. As she engaged one of the Brutes, three more broke past her.  
  
They were only past her guard for a second before she was upon them, but all three went for Director Knox and Mr Chambers. Looking closer, I saw that none of them were aiming for me. With that, a semblance of rationality started to return to me. I balled my hands in my scarf, taking long, deep breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. It worked a lot better this time.  
  
Nice to know my 'training' wasn't completely for nothing.  
  
I didn't know what the hell Mom had told her, what she had promised or bargained, to get Alexandria to prioritise my safety over the Director of Los Angeles' PRT Department.  
  
I focused back on the fight as Alexandria took them down with vicious efficiency. She could have just overwhelmed them with sheer power, with no coordination to her blows, but she attacked with the grace of a seasoned martial artist.  
  
Each hit flowed into the next, her movements almost graceful. It was like she executed a series of choreographed dance moves, then the Brutes were on the floor, their bodies rigid while they appeared to thrash around within their suits.  
  
All in all, once Alexandria got involved it lasted less than a minute. The Brutes were strong, but against a Triumvirate member they were hopelessly outmatched.  
  
Once all the Brutes were down, the PRT officers charged in, spraying them with containment foam, encouraged when it no longer slid straight off the suits.  
  
Alexandria floated back over to us. Several heroes, and not a small amount of PRT officers, stared at her, slack jawed and wide eyed. Apparently this was the first time seeing her fight for a few of them. They were awed, even though it wasn't all that impressive for her illustrious standards.  
  
After a moment, a PRT officer whose voice I recognised—Mike—called out. "All clear."  
  
A few more officers echoed the phrase before Director Knox picked up a radio and spoke into it. "Full building sweep. Lock down still in effect."  
  
A gruff voice answered with something I couldn’t make out, and she turned her attention back to monitors in front of her, now cycling through a bunch of different security feeds. It seemed quite a few more battles were going on.  
  
Alexandria shot a significant look at my temporary guards before flying out of the room. I saw her joining another battle on one of the security feeds a few seconds later. It went much the same as the fight in here had gone.  
  
Chameleon ambled over, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like nothing had even happened. He nodded at Praetor, then took up a position behind me.  
  
Praetor, still in her armour, stepped closer to me and placed a hand on my shoulder. "You okay, Taylor?"  
  
Bat shot Praetor a dirty look, but Praetor ignored her, eyes fixed on me. I felt small.  
  
"Yeah, I'm fine," I said, because I wasn't about to admit to any weakness in front of Bat.  
  
Who, of course, snorted. "Of course you're fine. You didn't have to do anything. As usual."  
  
I clenched my fists, fingers digging into the fabric of my scarf, and urged myself not to retort. There was nothing worse in Bat's mind than one of her comments going ignored. A fact I’d learned in my unfortunate dealings with the bitch.  
  
Instead, I turned to Praetor without sparing Bat a glance. The indignant twist of her lips visible under her half-mask was glorious. "Are  _you_  okay?"  
  
"What kind of Hero would I be if I got hurt fighting minions like that?" Praetor said with a smile. Her smile quickly dropped, though. "Even if they were apparently mastered, which kind of makes me sick."  
  
I grimaced. That wasn't actually what I had meant--I was pretty sure the enemy who'd had his head melted by green flames wasn't going to be getting up anytime soon. I had assumed it would affect her negatively, going by what I knew of her personality.  
  
But she seemed entirely unaffected. I wasn't sure what to make of that.  
  
Bat scoffed and cut into the conversation. "Would've been nice to know they were mastered before that whole fucking West Coast Kings thing. I mean,  _fuck_ , man, Vantage broke one of their necks."  
  
"They were the same ones who delayed the Rapid Response Squad?" Praetor asked.  
  
A lot of people’s attention was on Bat now, I noted, not least among which was the Director. I was staring at her, too. I didn’t know someone had delayed Rapid Response during that whole clusterfuck.  
  
"Pretty sure, yeah," Bat said. "They had different colour suits last time. Blue, and more translucent. What? Did no one else fucking notice that?" Bat looked around, then her shoulders slumped. "No one else in here is from Rapid Response Two, are they?"  
  
Director Knox spoke, her eyes narrowed. "This information would have been useful earlier."  
  
Bat crossed her arms. "What information? That we encountered them for a few minutes? It's not like I have anything useful I can give you."  
  
"It implies things about their affiliations," Rime said, frowning.  
  
"Well, I didn't really have the chance to talk about it. And I didn't realise I was the only one in the fucking room who knew. No need to bite my head off about it."  
  
"We're not," Director Knox said, her voice a lot softer now. "You're not in trouble, Bat. I apologise for getting short with you. This is a tense situation." Director Knox turned her attention to the screens as several radios in the room buzzed to life, giving 'all clear' signals. After a few moments, the Director nodded to herself and pressed a button in front of her and spoke. "Lift the lockdown, but remain on alert. I want the building swept one more time." She paused. "Have North, West, and South on alert, too."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," the gruff voice of Commander Hawkins came through the radio. One of the PRT officers—Adrian, judging by his short stature—breathed a relieved sigh.  
  
I stood a little awkwardly as the PRT and heroes in the room started going through the motions, splitting off into groups and carrying out tasks assigned by their superiors. Mr Chambers waddled out of the room after a while, a dozen or so equally eccentrically dressed minions trailing behind him.  
  
The bulk of the PRT forces in the room, including my PRT guards, set to the task of securing the prisoners. How they intended to do that, I hadn't the slightest clue. I had gotten a few impromptu lessons on PRT protocol with Mike during our training over the years, but the proper procedure for a situation like this escaped me.  
  
Bat ended up getting called up to talk to the Director, while Praetor spoke with Rime in a hushed voice. Phaser stood slouched beside me, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, and Chameleon was equally bored, probably itching to get back to his cheesy cape movies.  
  
No one really seemed to acknowledge I was still here. I couldn't figure out if I was allowed to leave, or I was supposed to stay put.  
  
Unfortunately, with everyone looking so busy with important-sounding tasks, I couldn't work up the courage to ask anyone, and my new protection detail was nowhere to be seen.  
  
And so I was still there fifteen minutes later, twirling the end of my scarf around a finger, when Alexandria returned to the room.  
  
It said a lot about my growing boredom that I was actually relieved to see her.  
  
Alexandria looked me up and down, nodded to herself and headed over to the Director. "All the insurgents are in custody or… dealt with. The building should be secure now, but I would recommend staying on alert for a while longer, and maintaining diligence even after the alert is lifted."  
  
"I would agree," Director Knox said, before leaning back in her chair and heaving a sigh. "So, do we have any idea what's happened here?"  
  
"Near as we can tell, it was a coordinated effort by a Master and a Tinker to target multiple important members of the Los Angeles PRT. They have all been repelled, fortunately, and there have been no fatalities." Alexandria crossed her arms. "The goal and motivation are obvious, but this doesn’t fit the Elite’s modus operandi."  
  
Director Knox frowned. "You're still convinced it's the Elite."  
  
"I'm no longer convinced at all. Unless it really is Bastard Son—and I cannot see the Elite being foolish enough to send Bastard Son's cell here, they know I would not tolerate him—this is not the way they operate. Have  _ever_  operated. They favour the balance as much as we do. Unless they're going for something truly ambitious, or their leadership has changed drastically without us knowing it, I find it difficult to believe this is the work of the Elite."  
  
I took it all in. This was the most I'd ever heard Alexandria talk.  
  
Knox's frown deepened. "And the Thinkers are still convinced the Elite are behind this? Multiple different powers are coming to that conclusion?"  
  
Alexandria nodded. "It would appear so. Someone playing us against each other? Audacious."  
  
"I would find it even harder to believe someone could trick so many Thinkers, but I don't buy this is the Elite, either."  
  
I sighed. They were going around in circles without coming to a conclusion, now. I just wanted to go home and go to bed and feel safe again. Maybe have some hot chocolate. Call Mom or Rose and let them talk me to sleep.  
  
I froze. Home? I couldn't go home tonight, could I? It wouldn't be safe at all.  
  
"The Stranger," I murmured.  _Edna,_  I didn't say.  
  
Praetor whipped round to face me, eyes wide. "I forgot about that."  
  
"The Stranger?" Rime looked between me and Praetor. I fiddled with my scarf.  
  
"There was a possible Master/Stranger incident at or near Miss Costa-Brown's home just before the alarm went off. We didn’t get the full details," Praetor replied, much to my relief. I didn’t trust myself to speak. "Do you think they could be connected? Was anyone else attacked at their home?"  
  
"Officer Wilkins' home was also breached," Director Knox said.  
  
 _What?!_  
  
I hadn't known that either. Why was I always left out?  
  
Knox and Alexandria both had their attention on Praetor, now. "Officer Wilkins? You mean Mike?" Praetor asked. "The head of Tay- Miss Costa-Brown's security team?"  
  
Alexandria's gaze swept to me, watching me intently, but she didn't say anything. It was Director Knox who spoke next. "Details on the incidents?"  
  
An assistant came forward and tapped a few keys on Knox's keyboard, then one of the monitors switched from a security feed to a report.  
  
"Guards near the Costa-Brown residence reported suspicious activity," the assistant said, "then moments later claimed there was nothing wrong when asked for further detail. A nearby squad was dispatched and found the house had been clearly broken into, but the guards continued to insist nothing was wrong, even getting angry about it. However, when shown the ‘undeniable’ truth of the situation, several of the guards snapped out of it and asked to be taken into confinement for M/S protocols. Before this could be done, the attack on the PRT occurred, and available units were directed back to their closest stations."  
  
Director Knox pursed her lips. "If Miss Costa-Brown had been at home, no help would have come for her. All the while we’d be sitting here debating the culprits of this mad attack.  _This_ is starting to sound more like the Elite."  
  
My heart dropped. For the last half hour, I'd had myself convinced that it wasn't all about me. The Brutes had been targeting other people, I was just an unfortunate bystander in all of this. This had nothing to do with Edna or the Gypsies.  
  
But of course not.  
  
Of course it was a diversion so the PRT and Heroes were caught up protecting the PRT building and its important personnel.  
  
Of course people fought and got hurt, all for the sake of getting to me, whether they wanted to use me for some kind of bargaining chip or kill me.  
  
I let out a laugh that sounded bitter even to me. Just as I'd started thinking things were looking up, I'd been brought crashing back down to reality. I wanted to take control of my life, and then it was ripped away from me all over again.  
  
I’d wanted to protect myself, to feel like less of a burden  
  
Yet here I was.  
  
I was always going to be weak. Pathetic. Just like Edna had told me.  
  
Home wasn’t safe. The PRT wasn’t safe. It felt like nowhere was.  
  
I screwed my eyes shut, pulling my scarf up over my face.  
  
 _I need to get out of this fucking city._


	7. Side story 1: Rebecca and Richard (Part One)

  
_  
Rebecca sat in her hospital bed, her mind blank, her body numb. Her fingers idly traced the star-shaped scar just beneath her left eye, and she pondered on many things._

_How it had all gone so wrong._

_What this tragedy would change in Cauldron._

_Most of all, what the hell she was going to tell Taylor._

 

~~~~~

 

Rebecca placed her hands on her lap, fingers laced, and observed the man in front of her. His blond hair was styled immaculately, his skin unblemished. His teeth practically sparkled. His face and physique spoke of a man who went to great lengths to care for his body. Almost obsessively, even.

A complex? Something to do with his condition before he'd taken a vial?

She couldn't be sure. She'd have to ask Doctor Mother about it later.

There was little doubt in her mind she was right, though.

His clothes, if they could be called that, were a different story. Dirty, damaged jeans. Rugged boots. A thin, long-sleeved shirt that showed off the tight muscles underneath.

And that confirmed it for her. A man who cared for his body, but not for his appearance. Self-conscious, but not shallow.

Many of the books she'd memorised spoke of ways she could use this knowledge to her advantage, but she didn't want to do that. She was in this for helping people. Being a hero, even if she'd be doing some shady things behind the scenes.

"Hero," she said, greeting him with a nod. She held out her hand for him to take, and he didn't hesitate to do so. His grip was strong and he shook hers with confidence, she supposed, but she could have crushed his hand like cardboard.

Today, though, she was Rebecca Costa-Brown, sat before a PRT officer in Department One. She gripped his hand with as much strength as could be expected of a healthy woman in her early twenties.

"Rebecca," he said, voice slightly strained. "Just Richard, please. I wanted to talk to you about a few things."

Rebecca raised one eyebrow and gestured for him to sit. "Make yourself comfortable, Richard. My door is always open to one of the founders."

Hero--  _Richard_  complied with a nod. He pulled up a seat so he was right next to her desk, then leaned his elbows on the polished wood. Rebecca’s eye twitched.

"I wanted to talk to you about this whole PRT thing," he said.

Rebecca nodded and waved for him to continue, keeping her expression blank. She'd already seen in their first meeting that he was uncomfortable with the deception the PRT would be weaving.

She'd been waiting for him to confront her about it for quite a while.

"I'm not comfortable with this."

_Yes. That much is obvious._

"Why?" Was all she said out loud.

Richard made a face. "I see the need for it, to a degree. A public organisation that keeps tabs on what parahumans are doing. Giving them training. Helping them deal with their shit--god knows, we don't want people who can fire laser beams from their eyes going through mental breakdowns." Richard paused, pinched the bridge of his nose. "I just don't like the deception. I've looked at your booklets you made up, and it makes sense. It's all logical. Rational. But it's  _wrong_."

Rebecca tilted her head. "Wrong?" She said as if testing the word.

There was no room for right or wrong, considering what they were dealing with. Much as she hated it, she was going to have to do things she deeply disliked, in her capacity as Alexandria, and the head of the PRT once she got there. But, she supposed, Hero wasn't aware of that yet, so he could be excused for getting distracted by his emotions.

"Manipulative," Hero said, "just like I told you before. Lying to millions of people like this."

"I'm not Chief-Director, yet," Rebecca said, though it was merely a stalling argument. Intended to imply their plans could still be changed, when she knew she would do no such thing.

Hero didn't buy it. "But you will be. We haven't worked together for long, but I know you've got a stubborn streak about you. You think you're right, so you're not gonna back down." He paused, taking a breath. "And like I said, it all makes sense. I see why you're doing it. I just want to make sure you don't abuse the power you're going to have."

Rebecca raised her eyebrows. The man seemed to like the sound of his own voice, so she kept her reply succinct. "Abuse it?"

"If you're going to be deceiving and manipulating people behind the scenes like this, make sure it's for the sake of doing  _good_  things," Richard said, eyes sharp and focused on her. "Don't just do shit that represents Cauldron's interests. Do things that benefit parahumans in general. They're going to need a lot of help, the way things are going."

Rebecca narrowed her eyes. She wasn't sure whether to be offended that he automatically assumed she was going to use her position to do 'bad things.'

"I'll take your concerns into consideration, Richard," she said, giving what she hoped was a charming smile. "Though I wish you didn't think so low of me for these concerns to arise in the first place."

Richard's eyes widened, and he started waving both hands in front of his face. "It's not like that. I wasn't judging you. It's just... a position that could easily corrupt someone, you know?"

"It is inherently a corrupt position, yes, but I'm not some machiavellian schemer."

Richard grinned. "Really? I pictured you twirling a moustache and monologuing to me about your evil plans."

Rebecca smiled at the thought. "No. I'm in this to help people, Richard. To save lives." She hesitated for a moment. "Be a hero."

And she meant it. Even if she had to do some bad things for the greater good, she hoped she would always be able to consider herself a hero.

With the knowledge of the grand villain that would be waiting at the end, she would have to be the greatest hero of all, even if a lot of people would never recognise it.

"I'm glad to hear that, Rebecca," Richard said with a much more sincere smile. "It's nice to know I have such a famous fan."

Rebecca rolled her eyes.

 

~~~~~

 

Rebecca floated in the nighttime sky above Los Angeles. The city below was a mere cluster of lights, too far below for her to make out any significant landmarks even with her perfect memory.

She didn't have to wait long before she heard the low hum of booster engines approaching from behind her. She turned to face her fellow founder.

Hero was wearing a new set of armour, styled like an old European knight save for the helmet, which was a more modern-looking contraption, gold with a blue visor. The boosters on his feet and hands kept him upright, though he was ever so slightly shaky in the air. He didn't fly with the same simple grace she did.

"Didn't keep you waiting long, did I?" He called out, his grin visible under his visor, though his eyes were concealed. His voice was perfectly audible even over the sound of his thrusters, like he was whispering straight into her ear. She had to wonder how he achieved that.

Rebecca simply shook her head and glided closer.

Hero's grin widened. "Great. Ready to go kick some villain butt?"

Rebecca smiled back, and motioned for Hero to take the lead. He shot towards Los Angeles with a little shout of excitement.

They'd done a lot of patrols like this over the last year. Most of them had been with Hero's insistence and Rebecca's grudging acceptance. They largely surveyed Los Angeles and the surrounding area, though they sometimes even went as far as San Diego when they found no local miscreants to deal with.

Hero always kept up the same chipper, upbeat attitude. Alexandria, on the other hand, stayed stoic most of the time, as her persona required. She was the dark, edgy one. The Hero who'd come after you and have no compunctions putting you in hospital if you stepped too far out of line.

It was all about image, like that.

Though Hero was not someone to be messed with, and anyone with two braincells to rub together knew that, his charisma made him more approachable, and by extension all parahumans with him. Parahumans needed to be humanised, and Hero was the perfect man to be the face of that particular campaign.

They flew side-by-side over the city, now low enough to make out what was happening on the streets.

Hero hummed to himself as he went, nudging her a few times to try get her to join in, though he knew perfectly well she wouldn't. And he knew that she knew that he knew that.

He was an irritating man, but he knew that too.

It was as they were flying over Beverly hills that they finally caught sight of a disturbance. A group of balaclava-clad young men were crowding around a large house. She couldn't hear their taunts from this distance, but she could easily figure out their intentions from their body language, the positioning of their people, and the way they were trying to hide their from view of the house.

It looked to be a house invasion of some kind, but it was best not to make assumptions.

She pointed it out to hero, and he shot forward without a moment's hesitation. The thugs spun around at the sound of Hero's boosters. He said something to them Alexandria didn't hear, probably some stupid taunt, and one of the thugs opened fire.

The bullets pinged harmlessly off his armour, sending out little sparks of blue light. No, pinged wasn't the right word. Fizzled, perhaps? It appeared his armour was disintegrating the bullets on contact, somehow.

Not for the first time, Alexandria thought that tinkertech was utterly ridiculous, and Hero's tinkertech was the most ridiculous of all.

Hero drew his own gun, aimed it at the thug, and pulled the trigger. There was a bright gold light, then the thug crumpled to the ground, chest shuddering. The others crowded around their fallen comrade, drawing their own weapons but holding their fire.

Alexandria descended, letting the wind capture her cape and blow it around behind her. It gave her the look of a vengeful goddess coming down from the heavens to impart righteous judgement.

Not the kind of image the general public needed to see, but it would strike fear into the hearts of the thugs they were facing. Fear would make them erratic. Uncoordinated.

As expected, Alexandria's reputation preceded her. A dozen different thugs opened fire the moment she came into view. They bounced harmlessly off of her, though her costume was creased in a few places.

She waited, counting to two in her head.

Then she shot into action, taking down the thug nearest to her with a brutal clothesline. She heard Hero rocketing into action behind her as she went for the second nearest enemy, and then the two founders were moving in perfect synchronisation, as if they had been fighting together their entire lives.

Alexandria protected Hero's back and Hero protected hers. She blocked gunfire aimed at him and barrelled into the attacker, sending them flying across the lawn until they landed in a crumpled heap. When another tried to take advantage of Alexandria's momentary distraction, Hero hit them with another blast of his tinkertech rifle, leaving them to crumple to the ground like a rag doll.

They didn't need to do this, of course. But, as it always did, it came down to one thing: image. They were in a very public area. Hundreds could be watching them at this moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alexandria noticed a man with a personal camera, recording them from his balcony across the street, and mentally corrected herself.

_Millions_  would bear witness to this moment, eventually. They had a show to put on.

Alexandria subtly signalled to Hero, and the two of them prolonged the battle. They took down the thugs in flashy, eye-catching ways.

Hero displayed a good range of his arsenal, using an assortment of tinkertech to down his opponents.

Alexandria, on the other hand, used her impressive array of martial arts skills to disable her own opponents.

They did things quickly and efficiently, but not too perfectly. They left behind no damage to the property, but their costumes were slightly dishevelled.

They looked the picture of grand heroes.

And, in a small part of her, Alexandria felt like it, too.

 

~~~~~

 

“So tell me about yourself,” Hero said, leaning on the edge of Rebecca’s desk. “I’ve spent a bunch of time with Luke and David, but I feel like you me and you never get a chance to talk.”

Rebecca sighed and clasped her hands in her lap. “We’re busy people.”

“So are David and Luke. Come on, Rebecca. We’ve known each other for, what? Two years, now? We’ve fought side by side. Had each other’s backs.” He paused, smiling. “We should work to form a better relationship. It can only help our performance in the field.”

Rebecca stared at him, blank-faced. One of the psychology books she’d read held a debate on keeping people at a certain distance in order to not be harmed, but despite some of the things she’d already seen in her career—the very real possibility she could lose her teammates and the pain that might cause—she found she didn’t want to follow that advice.

“What do you want to know, exactly?”

Hero grinned. “All about you. Your likes and dislikes. Your dreams for the future. What makes you tick.” He paused, furrowing his brows. “Just who you are as a person, I guess. I’ve come to my own conclusions about you from working together, but I want to look under the hood, so to speak.”

Rebecca scoffed.  _Blunt as ever_.

But, again, she didn’t really dislike that about him.

“Likes, hmm?” Rebecca trailed off, making a troubled face. Judging by Hero’s sour expression, it had given him the impression she intended. She suppressed a smile.

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me there’s nothing you like. You’re not  _that_  edgy.”

She leaned back in mock offense. “How rude, Hero. I’ll have you know I like punching, kicking, and cleaning blood out of my costume.”

Hero grinned. He always did appreciate that kind of humour better than Legend did.

“See, there’s that dark sense of humour,” he said. “You should bring that out more often. David might not think you’re such a stiff, then.”

“A stiff?”

“Yeah. Unbending. Endlessly serious. I mean, David’s a moron, and you’re not  _that_  much of a stiff, but you could turn off the dark, brooding act when you’re out of costume a bit more.”

Rebecca tilted her head, not quite needing to feign offense any longer.

“I like oranges. My mother and I used to pick them before the cancer got too bad.”

Hero smiled, evidently focusing on the happier part of her statement. Or, at least, she hoped so. She didn’t think the idea of a teen getting cancer was particularly amusing, dark humour or otherwise.

“That’s nice. Oranges are good for you,” Hero said, earning himself a half-hearted glare. “What else?”

They talked for hours after that, long into the night.

She learned that Richard enjoyed running in the mornings. Being able to stretch his legs without his body malfunctioning on him was one of the joys of his life.

In return, she told him there was no greater feeling than flying above the clouds at dawn.

Hero dreamed of having a daughter. Just the one.

Rebecca told him she wanted a family of her own, happy together just like her old family had been, with her mother and father and little brother. In reality, her greatest dream was ensuring humanity’s survival against the golden man, though the answer she had given him was not necessarily a lie. She did miss her mother at times.

When they were done and Hero left to do whatever it was he did at four in the morning, Rebecca was hiding a smile.

For some reason, she felt optimistic for the future.

 

~~~~~

 

“Fuck!” Richard shouted, slamming his fists into the table for the third time in the span of a minute. “Just… fuck, man. What the fuck. You have got to be kidding me!”

“I assure you, we are serious,” Rebecca said for the sixth time in the span of a minute.

Hero was sat across the table from them, hunched over a series of reports, pictures and analyses. Alexandria, Eidolon, Contessa, the Number Man, and Doctor Mother all watched him, their focus unwavering.

It had been decided, unanimously, that Hero would be let in on the Truth. Cauldron’s real purpose.

The apocalypse at the hands of the golden man the world had taken to calling Scion.

Alexandria almost laughed at the thought of the name  _it_  had chosen for itself.

Hero slammed his fists into the table once more—it did not even shift under the weight of his armour; some kind of power in effect, Alexandria was sure—but this time he took a long, deep breath through his nose, then pressed a button on his neck. His helmet slid away, revealing his face, set into a determined, serious expression.

“You have plans to try and stop this?” Hero asked.

The Doctor nodded. “To a certain extent. Most powers do not work on him, so we are flying mostly blind. Be assured, though, we are doing everything we can.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Hero paused a moment, running an armoured hand through his hair. “I want to know everything. Whatever it is, whatever idea you have, I want to help. If you think I can build something for the cause, come to me. Now that I know about this, I  _have_  to go all in.”

Rebecca spoke up. “Not much will change from how things were before. This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

“We will require a long time to build up a suitable army to fight him,” the Doctor said. “And we can only hope we happen across a power that can break the ‘rules,’ so to speak. We believe you and Eidolon, all of the founders in fact, do break the rules, to a degree. Agents with less restrictions. To defeat Scion, we will need to gather more like you.”

Hero nodded. “Who else knows about this?”

“Only those in this room,” Eidolon said. It had been his idea to include Hero in Cauldron’s inner circle in the first place, though Rebecca had eventually agreed with it.

She’d seen enough of Hero’s character to know that he would see how important this was. He’d be upset about a few points, but he’d work himself half to death for Cauldron’s cause, now that he knew what it was.

“We’re not going to tell the government? Let more people know the danger  _he_  poses?” Hero asked, frowning. “These people think he’s the greatest of all heroes. They’ll be taken completely by surprise.”

“We cannot know how Scion will react if he knows there are factions that consider him a threat,” Rebecca said. “We could set him off early if he finds out. The more people who know, the more likely he is to find out. Bear in mind he has  _all_  the powers. He could hear it being discussed from the other side of the planet, for all we know.”

Hero clenched his jaw. “We’re talking about billions of lives here. Trillions.”

“Precisely,” Doctor Mother said. “And that is all the more reason why we must exercise the utmost caution. One slip-up and an unfathomable number of lives are lost.”

That sobered Hero up in an instant. Rebecca cut in before he could the point could be argued any further. “This  _has_  to be kept secret, Richard. The only way to play this one is from behind the curtain.”

Hero’s lips twitched upwards. “I knew there was a reason for that your PRT venture you weren’t telling me about.” He hesitated. “I believed that you had a good reason for it because you’re a good person. I believe you all are. But, fuck me, I never expected anything like this.”

Rebecca smiled, feeling the tension bleed away. When they had told David the truth—well, more accurately were forced to tell him the truth when he acted on a random suspicion and found out part of it with a few Thinkers powers—he had been a mixture of livid, terrified and disbelieving.

In her experience, David and Richard had fairly similar personalities, so she’d expected a similar reaction from her fellow founder.

But, it seemed Hero, with his air of calm determination, would never cease to surprise her.

Once again, she looked to the future with hope.

 

~~~~~

 


	8. Chapter 5: Motion

2.1

 

_Rose sat at the very end of her garden, staring at the house. She tried to remember what it looked like just a few weeks ago._

Tassle _hanging from the windows, a little banner reading ‘Happy Birthday, Rose.’_

_Taylor sat on her mommy’s lap, reading a book about some dumb PRT stuff. Dad watching them with a smile on his face._

_And Mommy watching her as she and Emma danced around the garden._

_It felt so distant, now. She had been so happy._

_Rose was young, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew this pain wouldn’t go away._ Wounds _like this didn’t heal. She found herself wondering if she’d ever_ be _happy again._

_As she was lost in thought, she didn’t notice someone approaching until they were sat down next to her, an arm over her shoulder. She flinched and tried to move away, but the arm stayed firm._

_It took her a second to realise, from the silky sheen of the black hair spilling into the corner of her vision, that it was her older sister._

_“Tay, I—” she tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the words._

_Taylor pulled her into a hug. “I’m here, Rosie. You don’t have to be sad on your own.”_

_As Rose cried and screamed and wished it was her mother here comforting her, she couldn’t help thinking maybe she’d be happy again someday after all._

 

~~~~~

 

From above, Brockton Bay looked like it was from a different world to Los Angeles, I thought as our helicopter-aeroplane-tinker-bullshit-whatever-the-fuck-it-was started to make its descent. The difference in size and scale was the most obvious thing, but even from up here one could sense a different mood to the city. It was grey. Dreary. I couldn’t tell if that was my pessimistic view on the state of the city or the rainclouds we’d just passed through.

Either way, Brockton Bay did not look as inviting as it had two days ago.

Convincing mom hadn’t been difficulty, really. She was more than happy to get me out of Los Angeles, so that part was easy. When I said I did not, in fact, want to come with her to Washington, but wanted to visit my Father and Sister in Brockton Bay, well… for once, she’d seemed caught off guard. Maybe even a little hurt.

Maybe I was finally hitting my rebellious phase or something, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel bad when I saw that. It wasn’t like we’d spend much more time together if I went to Washington anyway. At least in Brockton Bay, I’d have Dad. And Rose, assuming she’d be cool to skip school and hang out with me.

I was sure she understood it, but that didn’t mean there was a bit of tension in the air. Even if she would never show it.

As we got closer to the city, the PRT building became visible, sitting resolute and imposing among the Bay’s relatively few skyscrapers. Beyond it I could just about make out the ship graveyard Dad apparently spent half his time rambling about.

I could see Mom curling her lip as she looked out the window, taking in the sights, and I couldn’t blame her. The city got uglier and uglier the closer we got.

“Coming in for landing now, ma’am,” the pilot said over the comms. Mom nodded and settled back into her chair, and I did the same.

We landed without issue; only the best pilots for the Chief-Director. Mom was first off the plane-helicopter-thing, into the pouring rain as an assistant chased after her with an umbrella. Another assistant tried to do the same for me, but I waved him away and took the umbrella for myself. Mom paused to wait for me, then continued as I fell into step beside her.

A small crowd of PRT officers, and the heavyset director herself—identified by the little badge on the chest of her jacket—were waiting to greet us, but mom exchanged the bare minimum of greetings before breezing past them into the building, eager to get out of the rain. Once we were in the dry, mom turned on her heel to face the director.

“Emily, good to see you.”

Director Piggot stood to attention, grey eyes fixed on her superior. “Likewise, Chief-Director, though I am curious about the reasoning for this suprise visit. Will you be conducting an inspection?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt, while I’m here,” Mom said. She gestured towards me. “You remember my daughter, Taylor?”

Piggot raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Mom sighed. “Ah, yes. It wouldn’t been Director Brandish last time she was here. My apologies.”

I looked at her. Mom never forgot anything. What was that about?

“Well then, introductions are in order. Emily, this is my daughter, Taylor Costa-Brown. Taylor, this is Emily Piggot, Director of the PRT East-North-East division.”

“Charmed,” Director Piggot said.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, a little awkward since I already knew who she was. I’d read up on the higher-ups of the PRT so much it felt like I already knew her, which was a bit creepy of me.

“Taylor has family here in Brockton Bay,” Mom continued without missing a beat, “and will be visiting with them for a little while.”

Director Piggot’s lips twisted as comprehension dawned. I felt nauseous.

“You want us to babysit?” Director Piggot asked icily.

“Not at all. She has her own bodyguard detail who should be arriving shortly, two of whom are Parahumans, one Protectorate, one Ward, and will be more than capable of looking after her when she’s out of this building. Otherwise, I would like her to stay here for the duration of her stay, if at all possible.”

I felt decidely awkward here, a spectator as my fate was decided for me. It was only through force of will that I wasn’t fidgeting like a scolded child.

A bit of tension eased from Piggot’s expression. “I’m sure that wouldn’t be a problem. You’d want her in the Wards area with her Parahuman guards, then?”

“If they’re willing,” mom said, leaving the question unspoken.

“I’ll speak to them about it,” Piggot said. She looked me up and down before turning her attention back to mom. “If there’s nothing else, Chief-Director?”

“That will be all for now, Emily. I’ll be getting on with my inspection and reviewing your request for more capes shortly.”

Piggot nodded stiffly, then turned on her heel and strode away, half a dozen PRT officers peeling off from the group to follow behind her.

Mom turned to me. “Cafeteria?”

I could only nod.

~

One of the local PRT officers led us through a bunch of hallways and doors I lost track of instantly, down a set of stairs, and through a bunch more corridors. Somehow, we ended up in a cafeteria, complete with round tables and plastic chairs and a buffet-style selection of food. It felt like a high school room, except the cafeteria at my school was actually considerably nicer than this, which said a lot.

The room quietened noticably when I entered, then almost fell silent when Mom came in behind me.

Mom sat down at a free table without even going for the food. I was a little hungry, but I felt too awkward to go to the buffet myself when so much attention was clearly on us. I sat down across from mom, fiddling with my scarf as I found a really interesting stain on the table to look at.

I heard mom sigh. “Taylor, I am not angry at you.”

“You’re not?” I looked up at her. She was as proper as she ever was in public; back straight, perfect posture, hands folded in her lap. But her eyes only showed warmth.

“I understand that you don’t want to sit around at our Washington house all day,” she said. “It’s not a place you’re used to, god knows you’re hardly ever there, and I’m not going to pretend I’d be at home much.” There was a little twitch below her right eye, which was the closest mom’s expression ever got to pained. “And I’m sorry for that. I know you’ve been… unhappy, lately. I want to do more for you, Taylor.”

I sighed. These kinds of conversations were getting kind of old. “It’s okay, mom. Really. I get it. Your job is kinda important.”

Mom let out a breath and shook her head. She was always good at taking the hint, reading the mood. “Have you met the Wards here?”

“Not in a long time.” I winced. “It’s been too long since I’ve been in Brockton Bay.”

Mom nodded. “Daniel has not dealt well with the death of his wife.”

_Who does deal well with the death of someone they love?_ I wanted to say, but didn’t. No point spoiling what little time I had with mom before she jetted off back to Washington to save the world or something with an acidic comment like that.

“Neither have I, I guess,” I said. “I didn’t know what to say to them, how the hell I was supposed to comfort them about something like that. I still don’t, really.”

“You just have to listen, empathise,” Mom said.

I shook my head. “If I tried to empathise over something like that, I’d just break down myself. I couldn’t imagine losing—” I cut myself off, my cheeks burning. “Well, yeah. You know. I’m just not good with that kind of stuff.”

Mom’s lips twitched upwards before she schooled her expression. “You’re much better with that kind of thing than you think.” She rolled up her sleeve and looked at her watch. “Let’s get you somthing to eat, then we’ll go meet the Wards.”

Shrugging, I got to my feet. I’d read all their files, they seemed like good people.

 

~~~~~

 

 


End file.
